


None So Blind

by enigmaticagentscully



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-04 10:08:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4133550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticagentscully/pseuds/enigmaticagentscully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Josephine has a pet project, the Inquisitor is less than subtle, and Varric gets everything completely and utterly wrong.</p>
<p>Shameless Varric/Cassandra fluff. Misunderstandings, dragon slayings, secret missions, spiders, a whole lot of eavesdropping, angst by the bucket-load and almost certainly happy endings for all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Wrong End of the Stick

 

“So...we’re using our mysterious, terrifyingly powerful, dimension tearing abilities on the local wildlife now?” Varric asked.

The Inquisitor stared at him, aghast. “Varric!” he hissed. “You said you wouldn’t tell them!”

That was true enough, but it had taken Varric just less than half an hour into the journey to give in to temptation. The Exalted Plains may be a place steeped in fascinating and violent history (as Solas kept pointing out) but it was also cold, windy and boring as hell to walk across. Varric wasn’t a huge fan of the great outdoors as it was, and a guy had to get his entertainment where he could. And sure enough...

“Wait, you’re not serious?” said Cassandra, stopping in her tracks and turning to stare at the Inquisitor. “You were able to use that new ability from your mark again?”

“Yep,” said Varric, cheerfully answering for him. “On some spiders.”

“On...” Cassandra looked slightly faint. “You used the ancient magic we barely understand and tore open the veil between worlds to kill _spiders?_ ”

Markus Trevelyan was a tall, broad-shouldered man of some thirty six years, but right now he looked like nothing so much as a misbehaving schoolboy who had just been ratted out to his teacher. Behind his neat sandy beard was a look of defiant guilt.

“I don’t like spiders,” he muttered.

“To be fair, they were _giant_ spiders,” said Varric, enjoying himself immensely. Cassandra rounded on him.

“You are _not_ helping Varric. Why didn’t you stop him?”

Varric was both slightly amused and momentarily speechless at this flagrant injustice, but was saved from coming up with a response as Solas cut in.

“What happened?” asked the elf, unusually excited. “It worked as it did before?”

“Pretty much,” said Trevelyan. “Glowing green stuff, spiders flying about, that sort of thing.”

“And there weren’t any adverse effects?”

“On me?” Trevelyan looked rather worried, as if the thought had only just occurred to him. For a mage, the man was remarkably unconcerned about the side effects of powerful magic. “Ah...not that I noticed?”

“What about on the _world?_ ” burst in Cassandra, apparently sufficiently distracted back to her original target. “Think of what you might have unleashed! You used the unstable power of the demon realm as...as _pest control.”_

“They were _very_ big spiders,” said Trevelyan, a touch plaintively. “And there were a lot of them.”

“I do not think we need be concerned Seeker,” said Solas. “If my theory is correct, this new power is almost the reverse of the rifts. If anything went wrong, it is unlikely that any more demons would be brought through into our world. Indeed, I would think it far more probable that anything nearby would instead be sucked into the Fade.”

Cassandra stared at him. “That is...not at all reassuring Solas,” she managed.

Trevelyan nodded vigorous agreement. “You think I could be sucked into the Fade by using this thing?” he said.

“Only if you lost control of it,” said Solas, smiling faintly, “and thus far you have shown remarkable control over the abilities of your mark. Or, the Anchor, as I suppose we should now properly call it. We are fortunate that you are a mage, since I doubt one without innate magical talent could have mastered it as you have, and I believe you have shown it may be wielded safely. As with all magic, it is there to be used, not rejected out of fear.”

As one of the two non-mages present, Varric felt there was rather an implied insult to this, and a glance at Cassandra’s frown told him he wasn’t the only one.

“I am glad the mark has proven useful,” she said wearily. “But I still will not trust its power when we know it came from Corypheus.”

 “You’re right,” said Trevelyan, looking suitably chastened. “I should have been more cautious.” He turned back to Solas. “You can help me study this, can’t you?” he asked, and his familiar broad smile was back in a flash. “In a more controlled way than me just randomly using it when I panic, I mean?”

Solas smiled back. “Of course.”

Trevelyan nodded and held his hands up beseechingly at Cassandra. “Forgive me. I wasn’t really thinking. And for the record, Varric may be a terrible snitch and shameless stabber-of-backs, but he couldn’t have stopped me if he’d tried. It just sort of happened. But trust me, I won’t be using this again for a while. Even on spiders.”

“I do trust you,” said Cassandra, smiling despite herself. “But I also want you to be careful. And _please_ Inquisitor, if you come across spiders again, just call for help.”

Trevelyan grinned. “Does that only go for the giant ones? Because there’s one in the corner of my room at Skyhold that’s been giving me the eye. I’ve been sleeping in the kitchens for days.”

Cassandra laughed, and Varric took that as a sign that they were probably both off the hook for now. The Inquisitor did have a knack for calming the Seeker down, just as Varric had a particular gift for winding her up. It was something he was grateful for, especially after the whole Hawke debacle a couple of months ago – that was the angriest he had ever seen Cassandra, which was saying a lot, and it had taken Trevelyan a lot of smoothing over to make things amicable again.

They decided to pause for lunch and Varric munched his bread, watching their leader chatting away with Cassandra as they ate, all disagreements forgotten. It really hadn’t taken the two long to become quite friendly, even after what had happened at the Conclave. He himself had taken a lot longer to forgive the Seeker for their less than pleasant introduction, and maybe that was as much his fault as hers, at that. It had genuinely surprised him how personally betrayed she had clearly felt when she had found out about Hawke. And it had surprised him how guilty _he_ had felt about it. Even knowing he had done the right thing by his friend, Varric didn’t take any pleasure in upsetting Cassandra. She already bore responsibility for too many things that weren’t actually her fault without adding more to the pile.

Though her trying to punch his lights out when she discovered the truth had tempered his sympathy somewhat.

Still, now Cassandra knew exactly where Hawke was, Varric was no longer a prisoner, and they were starting to hash out a strange kind of friendship. Of a sort. Which apparently didn’t stop her from immediately trying to blame him whenever anything went wrong. Varric grinned to himself. He supposed it was almost a compliment, really.

“Hey Varric!” The Inquisitor’s voice brought him out of his musings. “When are we going to get the next instalment of _Swords and Shields_ , anyway? Some of us are eager to know what happens next.”

Varric chuckled, partly at the aghast look on Cassandra’s face at Trevelyan’s complete lack of shame, partly at the fact that she had apparently now gotten the Inquisitor into the serial too.

“Give me some time,” he called back cheerfully. “I do also have things to write that actually _sell_ , you know.”

“But you are writing more?” said Cassandra, her voice decidedly hopeful.

“Couldn’t disappoint my biggest fan, Seeker.”

She made a faintly disgusted noise at that, but she was smiling, and her heart clearly wasn’t in it.

 

* * *

 

In retrospect, being bored was probably better than being ambushed.

The Venatori had a nasty habit of popping up everywhere they went these days, and it seemed the Exalted Plains were no exception. It wasn’t really surprising, Varric supposed, since the cult was apparently still obsessed with capturing or killing the Inquisitor and were probably simply following him wherever they could, waiting for a chance. And Markus Trevelyan wasn’t particularly adept in the fine art of keeping a low profile.

He was currently dodging through the middle of quite a large group of Venatori with a huge grin on his face, bellowing colourful insults as their spells bounced off the shimmering magical barrier surrounding him, and occasionally pausing to throw a blast of fire at one or other of the robed figures.

Deliberate or not, it made for quite an effective distraction, Varric had to admit. Their little group was outnumbered here, but the Venatori were so intent on trying to get to the Inquisitor that he had managed to take down a couple already with a quick crossbow bolt to the leg before they’d even noticed him. Solas had taken refuge behind a nearby boulder and was concentrating on keeping a protective barrier up around Trevelyan and deflecting the odd barrage of magic that was occasionally hurled his way. Cassandra – never exactly one for subtlety either – was in the thick of things, mainly using her shield as a blunt instrument to slam into the Venatori in the hopes of knocking them senseless. Perhaps she intended to leave some alive for questioning, or perhaps she just didn’t want to swing her sword too much with Trevelyan leaping about the place like a madman.

Varric couldn’t help but sympathise – the tip of his crossbow weaved through the air in front of him as he tried to find a safe target to focus on. Which was why he didn’t notice the danger until it was too late. It was Solas’ cry of warning that made him turn, although he hadn’t even realised it had been directed at him. One of the Venatori mages he had shot a minute ago was kneeling on the ground just a few yards away, not half as dead as he should be despite the crossbow bolt in his chest, his staff directly aimed at Varric’s heart. Shit. The mage cried out something unintelligible and sent a blast of flame directly at him and Varric barely had time to throw his hands in front of his face in a completely futile gesture of defence. So it was a bit of a surprise when something hit him from the _side_ instead, knocking him to the ground and sending Bianca spinning out of his hands. He scrambled up and looked wildly around to see...

Cassandra, lying on the ground at the end of a furrow of scorched earth, her shield lying by her side, tiny flames still flickering in the charred grass around her.

Varric heard the Inquisitor cry out her name in horror. His own voice was caught in his throat as he stared at her, crumpled on the ground. She wasn’t getting back up. Why wasn’t she getting back up? He started towards her instinctively, but was thrown back as another blast just barely missed him. _Fuck_ this, he didn’t have time for it right now. He snatched up Bianca from where she had fallen and fired three shots in quick succession at the mage, not waiting to see whether they hit before he started to move, strafing right to try and reach Cassandra without turning his back on the Venatori.

The tempo of battle had increased, with Solas now out from behind his boulder, his staff spitting ice; the Venatori pressing the advantage by clustering back together into a united front, chanting rhythmically as they hurled magic from their staves in all directions; the Inquisitor throwing his marked hand into the air as vibrant green energy crackled around it. Varric desperately tried to keep in sight the splayed heap of Cassandra, lying still and silent on the ground. She was alright. She had to be alright, because the alternative was unthinkable. Maker _please._

He was forced to leap backwards to avoid a blast of ice from Solas, and then the world went a familiar sickly green colour. The remaining Venatori mages were drawn helplessly into the air, letting out cries of terror as the shimmering power of the fade engulfed them. Easy pickings. Varric joined Solas and Trevelyan as they took them out with brisk efficiency. There was sound like a sharp inhaling of breath, a soft _pop_ and the green light vanished, dropping the last Venatori bodies to the ground with heavy thumps.

The Inquisitor, with his longer strides, got to the Seeker’s side before Varric did. Trevelyan pressed two fingers gently to her neck, and as he approached Varric heard a sigh of relief and the familiar clink of a healing potion.

Cassandra groaned and Varric breathed again for what felt like the first time in the last ten minutes. Her eyes opened slowly, as if even that small movement was painful, and she sat up carefully but made no attempt to stand. Solas wandered off to examine the Venatori corpses, apparently satisfied that the crisis was past, but Varric found he couldn’t seem to move, his eyes fixed on the Seeker.

“Are you alright?” the Inquisitor was asking her anxiously.

“As well as can be expected,” replied Cassandra, with some difficulty. “This shield was made to withstand fire, and it seems it was successful. Remind me to pass on my compliments to Master Harritt.” She winced. “I did hit my head when I fell however, by the feel of it.”

“Thank the Maker it wasn’t worse,” said Trevelyan. “Oh, I er...I did the thing with the mark again. Sorry.”

Cassandra smiled wryly. “I suspect in this case it was justified.” A thought seemed to occur to her suddenly. “How is...everyone else?”

Trevelyan grinned. “ _Everyone else_ is just fine,” he said pointedly, “thanks to you.”

Caught in an unexpected tidal wave of relief, Varric watched the fond smile on the Inquisitor’s face as he pulled Cassandra gently to her feet, remembered the man’s cry as she had fallen, saw the faint flush on the Seeker’s cheeks...

And something soft broke inside him, quietly, unexpectedly.

Oh.

Shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our arachnophobic Inquisitor has twigged something, but Varric is barking up the wrong tree. There’s almost certainly another pun about wood in there somewhere, but I’m not clever enough to make it. 
> 
> Personally, I think Markus was totally justified. I’m pretty sure if I had mysterious devastating powers I’d just panic and accidentally use them on the first bee that got slightly too close to me.
> 
> Don’t forget to comment if you’re enjoying this fic, and come back next time for Chapter 2 – ‘Drawing Conclusions’ :)
> 
> ***  
> EXTRA NOTE: If you’re reading this sadly wishing I had updated one of my other fics instead, fear not! They are not abandoned, just on hiatus. If you’re worried that this one will trail off unfinished, WORRY NOT. For I have already written the whole thing, and I wouldn’t let myself post any of it until I was sure it was completed. There will be an update every couple of days, roughly.


	2. Drawing Conclusions

Varric sat on the edge of his bed in Skyhold, staring blankly at the wall. He couldn’t sleep. Again. This was becoming something of a pattern for the last few days, and he knew exactly why. It was the same old story again. How repetitive, how pointless, how _stupid._ If he had been one of his characters he would have wanted to take himself by the shoulders and shake himself very hard until he got some sense knocked into him.

Varric frowned, trying to work that one out. Maybe the idea didn’t make much sense. But the point still stood – he, Varric Tethras, was an irredeemable idiot.

Years back, when he was younger and a lot less cynical, he used to have foolish daydreams about Bianca suddenly deciding to abandon everything else and choose him instead. She’d show up at his door one day, minus husband, minus family, and he’d whisk her away to...somewhere. He’d never figured that part out. What was the point, when the whole thing was even more unlikely than anything he wrote in his books? However much she cared for him, she would never have given up her family, her ambitions, her life, just for him. He wouldn’t want her to. Actually, he kind of _had_ wanted her to, but he shouldn’t have.

Varric considered himself a fairly sane person. So why in Andraste’s name did he always fall for women who he hadn’t the slightest chance with?

Cassandra Pentaghast, of all people. She was...beautiful, yes, but also short tempered, violent and stubborn as a bronto. She was a religious zealot. A templar in all but name. A self-righteous, sword wielding, pain in the ass. And when he had thought for one heart-stopping minute that she was dead, it had felt as if the world had ended.

Varric sighed. Yeah, lying to other people was a lot easier than lying to himself, it turned out.

She _was_ stubborn. And she was strong, and passionate, and utterly dedicated to her cause. She would fight to the death for someone she wouldn’t bother nodding to in the street if she thought they were in the _right._ She cared deeply for the world, even for those who didn’t share her beliefs. She would face a thousand demons if it would bring peace, sacrifice herself willingly for the good of others without a second thought. She shouldered responsibility that any sane person would have run screaming from. Maker’s breath, she was like a character from one of his novels, too damn noble to be true.

She was a hopeless romantic. She liked his books, even the terrible ones. _Especially_ the terrible ones.  She had a dry sense of humour that showed itself at the most unexpected of times. She hated horses, she loved the outdoors, the wild places of the world. She blushed at the mere thought of smutty literature and when she smiled it was like the sun coming out from behind a cloud and sweet Andraste what was he _thinking?_ How had this _happened?_

Varric had long ago resigned himself to the pathetic shambles that was his love-life, and now Cassandra had stormed in like a battering ram and turned everything upside down. Typical of the woman. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, she and the Inquisitor...

Well this was getting him nowhere, anyway. Even knowing he had to be up early tomorrow for some meeting or other, Varric got up and pulled on his clothes, deciding that a walk around the battlements might at least tire him out enough to make sleep easier.

It was past midnight, and bitterly cold, so there weren’t many people around as he walked through the draughty corridors of Skyhold. It was amazing how the castle seemed to swallow people at night – the hundreds of faithful that had flocked here had all somehow managed to find somewhere to sleep, even in it was in tents in the courtyard, and now the place seemed almost deserted, even a little eerie. The door to the main hall would probably be locked at this hour, so he made his way down towards the kitchens, where he knew the door leading to the courtyard had lost its key long ago, even if anyone had cared to bother locking it.

Skyhold’s kitchen staff all took to bed early since they had to be up at the crack of dawn, so Varric had confidently expected the kitchens to be empty. The door may not be locked, but access to the food certainly was, since the head cook knew better than anyone the dangers of hungry night watchmen coming back from a shift on the cold battlements.

So when he approached the kitchen he was surprised see the door ajar and a light spilling out into the corridor, and even more so to hear the sound of Leliana’s voice floating through the open door. It wasn’t like their spymaster to be so easily overheard, but then, who would be about at this time of night anyway? Varric hesitated. He wasn’t really looking for company, and he could hardly walk right through the room without acknowledging the presence of whoever was in there, especially since they’d be bound to be curious about why he was up so late. Caught between going in and leaving the way he’d come, it was mainly an accident when he heard Leliana’s next sentence:

“...never very subtle about her feelings, even when she tries to be. She’s clearly fallen head-over-heels for him.”

“Do you think he knows, though?” It was Jospehine’s voice that replied. There was the clink of glass and the sound of a drink pouring, which may have gone some way to explaining the ladies’ lack of caution, conversation-wise.

Leliana laughed. “Well everyone else seems to. I’m not sure though, I haven’t known him for as long as I’ve known Cassandra.”

“Nor I,” said Josephine. “But you know, for all his jokes and charm, he can be remarkably self effacing. It’s possible he really hasn’t picked up on it.”

Oh. So he wasn’t the only one who had noticed. Varric sighed quietly. They were right as well – Trevelyan might be full of smiles and friendly good cheer, but he was a lot less confident than he tried to appear. Leadership had not come easily to him, and Varric could well imagine the man might consider himself unworthy of Cassandra too. Now thoroughly invested in eavesdropping, he didn’t make any attempt to announce his presence or move from his spot just outside the door. Might as well be hanged for a Bronto as a Nug.

 “Well we can always give him a little push in that direction if need be,” Leliana was saying. “He’ll realise sooner or later. Surely the more important question is: does he feel the same way?”

“You mean you don’t know?”

“I’m not actually a mind reader, Josie.”

“I suppose it is difficult. He’s certainly fond of her. When you think how they first met and then see the two of them together now...but then he’s always so charming and friendly with everyone.”

Leliana laughed. “If I didn’t know better I’d say you had a bit of a crush too Josie.”

“Not at all!” said Josephine, sounding horrified. “I don’t...I mean, you know who I...”

“Yes, yes, I know,” said Leliana, and Varric could hear the smile in her voice. “And you’re even more obviously smitten than Cassandra is.”

“Yes, well,” said Josephine hurriedly. “It’s late, I must be getting to bed.”

There was the scraping of chairs, and Varric tensed, a thousand bullshit justifications on the tip of his tongue, but no-one appeared. He didn’t hear anything more, so presumably the two women had walked off through the other exit into the courtyard, as he had planned to. He opened the door to the kitchen cautiously and entered, walking deliberately slowly so as to give Leliana and Josephine time to be far away by the time he followed them outside.

Well. He shouldn’t be surprised really – if he had noticed something between Cassandra and the Inquisitor then it was only to be expected that Leliana and Josephine would have too, since it was literally their business to know everything going on in the ranks of the Inquisition. That just about confirmed it then; he hadn’t been imagining things.

And it sounded like romance was blooming for their Ambassador too. The immanent end of the world certainly seemed to put people in the mind to seize the day when it came to this sort of thing. Varric wondered who the lucky man could be. Josephine, like Trevelyan, got along so well with everyone it was difficult to tell who she might have any special affection for. At least things were going well for someone then. The grim feeling of resignation settled in Varric’s stomach like a heavy weight as he headed almost automatically through the exterior door and across the courtyard towards the tavern.

Josephine was right – when you saw the Inquisitor and Cassandra together it was hard to imagine that she had been ready to execute him when they first met. They made a handsome pair; two pious souls from great noble families battling evil and saving the world. Coming together against the odds, a Seeker of truth and a rebel mage. It made a good story. A good story in which the feelings of the writer would only get in the way.

Varric grimaced. Self pity was not his thing. Drowning his sorrows in drink was not his thing either, but the tavern was always warm and busy, and drowning his sorrows in good company and conversation wasn’t a bad idea. Certainly better than pacing the battlements like some lovesick swain. Perspective was what he needed, time away from his own thoughts. And yes, perhaps a drink or two as well.

Wrapped up in what he had just overheard, he had half forgotten the lateness of the hour until he reached the tavern, but it was still open, though much less crowded than he was used to. A small group of scouts sat around a table in the corner, chatting animatedly – clearly pleased to be back from a mission and celebrating with a drink before turning in. The Dalish elf from Bull’s chargers was drinking alone at one end of the bar with her back to the room, obviously not wanting to be disturbed, but apart from that the place was empty. Even Cabot the barman wasn’t in evidence, so presumably the guy did actually sleep sometimes. He must have left the late-night patrons to help themselves to drink; everyone paid their tab in The Herald’s Rest or they got a disappointed lecture from Josephine.

Drinking alone didn’t seem so appealing, so Varric sat down at the other end of the bar from Dalish and pulled some paper out of his pocket (he always kept some on him) with the idea of writing to Hawke. He was idly eating peanuts from the bowl nearby and wondering how to write to his old friend without her realising something was wrong, when...

“Hello.”

It said something about how used to Cole he had become that Varric barely flinched at the unexpected voice from beside him.

“Hey kid,” he said, forcing himself to smile in greeting. “You’re up late.” A thought occurred. “Unless...you do sleep, right?”

“Sometimes,” said Cole. “Do you?”

Varric couldn’t help but grin at that. “Sometimes,” he said.

“Will you let me show you something?” asked Cole. Varric nodded, surprised at such an unusually direct line of conversation, and slid off his barstool to follow Cole upstairs, shoving the paper back into his pocket in mild relief. He probably wasn’t in the best mood for cheery letter writing anyway. Dalish glanced at them warily as they passed, but made no comment. A lot of the Inquisition still weren’t sure what to make of Cole, and now he had lost the ability to make people forget him as he once could, he drew a lot of suspicious looks.

Varric realised as they reached Cole’s hideaway in the rafters of the tavern that he should really have seen this coming. Cole was drawn to people who were in some kind of distress, and with all the shit that had been going on recently his own chaotic feelings must have attracted the kid like a beacon. It occurred to him with a certain resignation that time away from your own thoughts was difficult to come by with Cole around.

He was brought out of this train of thought by Cole handing him a small bound pad of paper, not unlike the ones he often carried around himself in case he got the chance to do any writing on the road. When he opened it however, it was full of drawings. Varric looked up in astonishment.

“You did these?”

Cole nodded, smiling slightly. Well that was a surprise. Not just that the drawings were extraordinarily good, but that the kid had been doing something so...well, _pointless_ in the first place. Something for the benefit of his own enjoyment. His recent experiences had gone some way to making him less otherworldly, but taking up a hobby was definitely new, as was wanting to show it to someone else. Varric doubted Cole had much concept of pride, but still. He had created something and wanted to know what someone else thought of it – Cole might be a mystery a lot of the time, but Varric could at least relate to that.

“They’re amazing, kid,” he said sincerely, transfixed by the images. “Really.”

He turned the pages, examining each new picture. Some were familiar – the view from the highest tower of Skyhold, horses in the stables, the smooth cobbled streets of Val Royeaux. Others were harder to place. There were images of a single flower, or the back of someone’s head, or a seemingly unimportant corner of a dusty room, each sketched with such loving detail as to make them seem equally significant as the beautiful landscapes. There were portraits too, scattered frequently through the pages, some that Varric recognised, some he did not. He paused on a random one, a beautiful young woman with dark braided hair, wicked eyes, and her face half hidden in shadow.

“Who’s this?” he asked.

“Leliana,” said Cole.

“...Oh.” It didn’t look anything like her, but then, who knew how Cole saw people? Varric turned the page tactfully, only to see a city wreathed in flames. His gut clenched. It was unmistakably Kirkwall. Thick black smoke filled the sky, blood smeared the walls.

“That’s Cullen,” said Cole helpfully. Varric couldn’t see anyone in the picture except for the couple of limp bodies strewn along the dark street, but he wasn’t about to press the issue. He stared at the image, almost able to feel the heat of the flames, hear the distant screams...

He closed the pad firmly. “Thanks for showing me these,” he said to Cole, making an effort to regain his composure. “It’s good to see you doing something like this – creating art is very human, you know.”

Cole smiled. “Oh, you should see this one!” he said suddenly. “It will help.”

Before Varric could ask _what_ it would help exactly, Cole took a folded piece of paper from his pocket and shyly handed it over. Varric unfolded it. It was Cassandra. Caught in the middle of laughter, a rare, striking thing. Her eyes shone with mirth, her hair tossed by the wind. The picture was full of life and vibrancy, and it was so...familiar, somehow. The oddest feeling of déjà vu crept over him.

“It’s yours,” said Cole.

Varric looked up, surprised out of his reverie. “Oh no, kid, I couldn’t take this,” he said slightly awkwardly. “It belongs with the others.”

Cole frowned vaguely at him. “But it doesn’t belong to me. You made it. How can you take something that’s yours already? I don’t understand.”

“I didn’t—” Varric stopped abruptly as light suddenly dawned. The picture seemed familiar because he _had_ seen it before. But in reality, not on a page. Kirkwall too... if Cole had never been to the city, then the only way he could have recreated it so perfectly would be...

“Wait, are you saying these are from people’s minds?” said Varric. “People’s memories?”

“It’s what they see,” said Cole. “Or what they want to.” He looked worried. “It didn’t help, I’m sorry. I can’t...I can’t start over, did I do this wrong?”

“No, you didn’t do anything wrong,” said Varric hastily. “It’s just... maybe you shouldn’t have shown these to me after all. People don’t always want everyone else to see what they see.”

“She’s beautiful. You don’t want them to see?”

Shit.

“I think anyone with eyes can see that already, kid.”

Cole smiled. “Not like you do.”

Double shit.

“Yeah well, maybe keep that one to yourself, ok?” said Varric, attempting to sound as casual as possible. Though why he was bothering when this was _Cole_ he was talking to was anyone’s guess. Still, though the kid didn’t always quite understand things like tact or privacy in the same way most people did, he wasn’t stupid and had never been malicious. Cole nodded.

“I should be going,” said Varric, firmly handing back the picture of Cassandra. Cole frowned slightly.

“You came here to forget, and I made you remember. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Varric. He made to leave and then paused at the top of the stairs. “The pictures really are amazing,” he said, forcing another smile onto his face. “I’ll see if I can get you some paints, so you can work in colour, if you like. But it might be a good idea only to show people their own pictures in the future, ok?”

Cole nodded again, looking thoughtful, and Varric left the tavern as quickly as he could without looking like he was running away. After tonight, suddenly the prospect of lying in bed and staring at the ceiling in the safety of his own bedroom didn’t seem so terrible after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its ok Varric, Cassandra’s smile makes me go a bit gooey as well.
> 
> I used the idea of Cole drawing from the images he sees in people’s head in a previous fic...just in passing then, but I liked the thought so much I have officially adopted it into my headcanon. Of course he draws them perfectly because...why wouldn’t he? That’s how they look. Why draw them another way?
> 
> Don’t forget to comment if you’re enjoying this fic, and come back tomorrow for Chapter 3 – ‘All Booked Up’ :)


	3. All Booked Up

It looked like Cassandra had a fan. Well, thought Varric ruefully, _another_ fan anyway, to add to the growing list.

The boy looked about seven or eight, was hanging off the wooden fence that circled the training dummies, and had been watching the Seeker practice for the past ten minutes or so. Varric in turn had been idly watching the boy. He was the son of one of the cooks, if memory served. Brandon? Bryan? Varric was usually pretty good with names, but there had been a lot of new faces arriving at the castle for the past few weeks. The boy’s mother was Teresa, he remembered; a plump woman in her thirties, who had a piercing voice and made very good pies. The father wasn’t in the picture, as far as he knew. That wasn’t unusual these days. Blights and wars both took their toll.

It occurred to Varric that it would be an interesting way to write a book about the Inquisition, if he ever did get around to it – through the eyes of a refugee kitchen boy at Skyhold, a seemingly inconsequential observer who had no influence on events, but would grow up in a world shaped by the people around him who would never notice he was there. Then again, it would be a bit light on the action side of things, so he’d have to have chapters outside of Skyhold too...perhaps each chapter from a different point of view then? Showing how the lives of ordinary people around Thedas were changed by the Inquisition’s actions, and revealing the characters of those who led it through the eyes of many different observers, all with their own unique perspective and opinions...

Musing on this promising chain of thought – Varric had a terrible habit of starting new books before his current ones were complete, something which annoyed his editor no end – he was surprised to see Cassandra finally sheath her sword after giving the training dummy a final blow, and walk over to the boy to speak with him. So much for the whole ‘those in charge would never notice he was watching them the whole time’ thing. Varric wandered closer so he would be able to hear better.

The boy also looked surprised at the Seeker’s approach, but wasted no time in taking advantage of her notice. “Can I have a go with your sword?” he said eagerly.

“Hmm, I’m not sure your mother would like that,” said Cassandra. “Here, why not try lifting my shield?” She unslung it from her back and passed it to the boy, whose arm trembled slightly as he made an effort to lift it to the right height in front of him.

“Impressive,” said Cassandra. “You’re strong for your age.”

The boy let the shield drop to the ground where the metal edge sunk slightly into the grass. “It’s too heavy!” he panted.

“I think so too sometimes,” said Cassandra, smiling. “But it’s very useful when you’re fighting dragons.”

Predictably, the boy’s eyes widened. “You’ve killed _dragons?_ ” he asked. “For real?”

“I had help,” she said. “But that shield probably saved my life more than once. Look.” She pulled down the collar of her shirt slightly to reveal the front of her left shoulder, where the skin was shiny and raised in what was unmistakably a long healed but very serious burn.

“It _got_ you,” said the boy, in a tone of delighted horror.

“And then I got _it_ ,” said Cassandra.

“BRYAN!” The piercing call across the courtyard made the boy jump guiltily.

“Oh no,” he said sadly. “Dragon incoming. I forgot about the stupid dishes.”

Cassandra raised her eyebrows. “You know,” she said, “sometimes speed is more important than strength in battle.”

The boy grinned widely and shot off like an arrow across the courtyard away from the direction of the voice. Cassandra watched him leave, a faint smile on her face, and then slung her shield across her back and started towards the steps to the main hall. Varric intercepted her halfway in as careless a way as he could contrive.

“You never let _me_ try out your shield,” he said, by way of greeting.

Cassandra rolled her eyes. “You can touch my shield when I can touch your crossbow,” she retorted.

“Careful Seeker,” said Varric. “A less refined man would have made an innuendo out of that one.”

Cassandra replied with a faintly disgusted noise, but made no objection as he fell into step beside her.

“I didn’t know you liked kids,” said Varric, deciding it was as good a way as any to keep the conversation going.

“What you don’t know about me could fill a very long book, Varric,” said Cassandra.

“Yeah, maybe one day I’ll write it.”

“Maybe one day I’ll knock you unconscious,” she replied evenly, as they started up the stone steps.

“Maybe not then.” He grinned. “Still, I’m amazed. You got through a whole conversation without threatening to stab him.”

“Has it ever occurred to you Varric, that it is just _you_ that brings out that impulse in me?” said Cassandra.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Seeker.”

She snorted; a half amused, half irritated sound, but didn’t reply, so this round probably went to him.

How easily they fell back into old patterns, trading barbs by habit, even if these days they were rather less... _barbed_ than they had been. The old animosity given way into something more fond, or grudging, or both, Varric couldn’t decide. He couldn’t honestly say how Cassandra saw their relationship, but he had learnt this – how much give and take they could allow each other, the careful line of irreverence he could walk to be a challenge but not an aggravation.

He wished he had bothered sooner. He had wasted so much time disliking her for reasons that didn’t even seem to make much sense anymore.

Even Hawke had chastised him for that, Varric remembered suddenly, surprised to see him being so caustic, bearing anyone such resentment. And she had been right actually; it wasn’t like him to hold a grudge. After all, what had Cassandra done to him really? Forced him to tell the truth, but also...given him a chance to set the record straight. And believed what he’d told her, at that.

In truth, after everything that had happened and with Anders gone...perhaps he’d just been looking for someone to blame for the whole mess. Perhaps Cassandra had too.

“Varric?”

“Hmm?” Without him noticing they had passed through the hall and out into the garden, and he snapped out of his musings to see Cassandra had stopped walking and was looking at him with a rather suspicious expression.

“Is there a particular reason you’re following me?”

Varric hesitated for only a split-second. “Aren’t you going to see the Inquisitor?” he asked, thanking the Maker for his ability to spout utter bullshit in the face of a difficult situation. “He asked to see me, so I assumed that’s where you were headed too.”

“Oh,” said Cassandra. “No, I wasn’t. That is strange, he told me he was taking the day off and didn’t want to be disturbed for anything less than an emergency.”

Varric shrugged. “Well it was Cole who gave me the message, so maybe I misunderstood. I guess I’ve got a free morning then.” He couldn’t resist adding: “Might actually get some writing done for once.”

Sure enough, Cassandra glanced hopefully at him. “You still have time for writing even with everything going on recently?” she said. She wasn’t nearly as good at sounding casual as he was.

“ _Especially_ with everything going on recently,” said Varric. He sat down on the bench they had conveniently stopped next to, since the garden was as good a place to write as any on a nice day like this. Cassandra remained standing, but then, he could hardly expect her to join him. “Nothing like fighting ancient darkspawn magisters and horrifying abominations to make you really want to forget reality for a while,” he continued.

Cassandra sighed. “I know what you mean. At least in books there is usually a clear resolution, some semblance of sense to what happens...” She hesitated for a moment, glancing down at him rather self consciously. “I...never really thanked you for writing that book, you know,” she said. “Even if you did do it just to embarrass me.”

“ _Mostly_ to embarrass you,” corrected Varric, a little surprised at her sudden candour, and thinking it only fair to return it with some of his own. “To be honest Seeker, I sort of wanted to know what happened next too.”

“Well, I appreciate it nonetheless. It...was good.”

“You’re forgetting you’re talking to the guy who wrote it. That book was _not_ good.”

“Well...no,” Cassandra admitted. “It was terrible. But in a good way.” She smiled wryly at him and Varric cursed himself for a sodding fool, because his heart was just about beating out of his chest. And then – would wonders never cease – she sat down next to him. About as far away as the bench would allow, but still.

“I really don’t know how you do it,” she said.

Frankly, at this particular moment Varric wasn’t sure how he did it either, because he was having quite a lot of trouble stringing two words together in the face of the fact that Cassandra was willingly engaging in conversation with him. Luckily this was at least a subject he – and probably every author ever – had been asked about before, so a response came automatically.

“I like words,” he said. “They shape the world.”

“I rather think _actions_ shape the world, Varric,” said Cassandra, without much rancour.

“It’s a bit of both, I’ll admit,” he replied, warming to his theme. “But when it’s done with words it’s more impressive. Take our Iron Lady for example.” He waved his hand towards Vivienne, who he had just spotted at the far corner of the garden, conversing with Mother Giselle.

“She doesn’t use nicknames like I do,” said Varric. “Instead, if you’ve noticed, she calls everyone pretty much exactly the _same_ thing.”

“My dear,” said Cassandra absently. “My darling.”

 Varric threw her a sidelong look and she went slightly pink. “Shut up,” she said.

“My point,” Varric grinned, trying not to think about how lovely Cassandra looked when she blushed, “is that with just two words Vivienne establishes two things: intimacy and ownership. She creates an impression of herself as an ally, even a friend, but one who definitely commands authority in the relationship. It’s friendly but patronising. Genius.”

“It’s part of the game, I suppose,” said Cassandra dismissively. “In Orlais.”

“Part of the game everywhere,” said Varric. “The Orlesians act like it’s something they invented, but we’re all playing the game. Everyone says what they think others want to hear, everyone tries to suss out what those around them are thinking, and everyone is always looking for an edge. Everyone wears a mask, even if it’s not one you can see.”

“That’s a very cynical attitude,” said Cassandra.

Varric raised his eyebrows at her and held out his hand. “Varric Tethras,” he said. “Pleased to meet you.”

Cassandra snorted. “I don’t believe it for a second. You’re not half as cynical as you pretend to be, Varric. I’ve read your books.”

“Yeah well, don’t spread it around Seeker. I have a reputation to uphold, after all.” He remembered something. “Hey, speaking of my books, I see you’ve got the Inquisitor reading them too.”

“Not intentionally,” said Cassandra, a faint smile playing around her lips. “He...insisted. Said if _I_ liked them he had to see what all the fuss was about. As if he didn’t have more important things to do.” Despite her words, her tone was fond, and Varric suddenly regretted bringing up the subject. Oh yeah, he was just _thrilled_ that his books were bringing those two closer together.

“So have you started a book club then?” he said, a rather more mocking edge to his voice than he had intended. “Hopeless romantics anonymous?”

Cassandra looked a little stung. Perhaps he shouldn’t have used the word ‘hopeless’. “No we have not,” she said. “As I say, it was a whim on his part, nothing more.”

“Well he’s a mage and you’re basically a templar. Maybe he’s trying to get on your good side so you won’t change your mind and clap him in irons again.”

There was a pause. “Maybe,” said Cassandra. She stood up abruptly and gave him a curt nod, her face carefully blank. “I must be going,” she said shortly.

Varric watched her ruefully as she strode off. He shouldn’t have pushed her about the Inquisitor. That had been stupid. Petty. It was rare enough that he got the chance to have a pleasant conversation with Cassandra without sabotaging it out of some absurd sense of pride. And implying that the man she cared for was afraid of her was a low blow, even for him.

Still, she’d get over it; it wasn’t as if she had ever cared much what he thought, anyway.

The sunlit garden had lost some of its attraction with Cassandra’s departure – Andraste’s ass, didn’t that sound revoltingly sappy? He’d be writing poetry next – so after a few minutes lost in his own thoughts, Varric headed back inside to his desk in the main hall, deciding he probably really _should_ get some of his business for the day finished.

On the way he spotted Josephine deep in conversation with the Inquisitor. So much for Trevelyan’s day off. Their Ambassador was probably trying to work out the depth of his feelings for Cassandra, giving him that ‘little push’ that Leliana had mentioned. Ruffles might be all polite good graces on the surface, but once she got an idea into her head she was nigh unstoppable. From what he could see, Trevelyan was looking unusually shy, but smiling broadly as the two chatted away, his eyes twinkling. Varric briefly considered trying to find a spot to eavesdrop, but thought better of it. Why torture himself? Anyone could see which way the wind was blowing. It was sodding made to be.

Well, he did have some free time, and maybe he _would_ start working on Swords and Shields, at that. It may only have two fans that he knew of, but they were both people important to him, even if he questioned their taste. If Cassandra and Trevelyan wanted to read terrible books to unwind after rushing about saving the world, then terrible books they would have.

After all, Varric wasn’t some love-struck youth from one of his shoddier novels. He could have a mature attitude towards this situation. It should be enough that he and the Seeker were on friendly terms. That they could talk together, fight alongside each other. That they were now allies, rather than adversaries. He should be content with that, appreciate her company for what it was, and do his best to forget any hopeless passion he may or may not have for her.

Surely it would pass, in time.

And when she and the Inquisitor finally got things figured out between them, he would be very happy for them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Varric is terrible for starting new writing projects when he has so many half finished ones already to work on. Terrible. What a terrible thing to do. I can’t imagine what kind of person would do that *whistles nonchalantly*
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to leave kudos and comment on this fic so far! I don't tend to reply to comments unless you ask something (or...I feel like it eh) but it always puts a huge smile on my face when I check and see that little number has gone up. I'm so pleased that people are reading and liking my nonsense :P
> 
> Confession time: Like Vivienne, I also call everyone ‘my dear’, regardless of age, gender, or relationship to myself. It sort of makes me sound like a slightly tipsy aging film star.
> 
> As always, don’t forget to comment if you’re enjoying this fic, and come back next time for Chapter 4 – ‘Can’t See The Forest For The Trees’ :)


	4. Can't See The Forest For The Trees

They had made camp late the night before, so the sun was already high in the sky by the time the Inquisitor’s small party had awoken and made ready to face the day. Not that you could see it, of course – the trees were so thick here in the centre of the forest that Varric could swear he had heard a dragon pass overhead once without any of them being able to see the damn thing.

The Inquisitor called them over to where he was standing at the edge of the clearing – if a place still almost entirely covered by canopy deserved such a word – apparently eager to be off after wasting precious hours of daylight.

“Change of plans today,” he said as Varric approached to join Dorian and Cassandra. “We’ll be splitting up. Josephine asked me to help her with something. A personal matter of hers. Don’t worry, it’s nothing difficult or dangerous, but I’ll be gone for most of the day.”

“By yourself?” said Cassandra, a wary edge to her voice. “Is that wise?”

“She’s right,” said Dorian. “It’s a bad idea for you to go off alone even for a small matter. If anything happened to you, oh fearless leader, where would we all be then? So I’ll accompany you.”

The Inquisitor was being so cagey about this ‘mission’ that Varric fully expected him to object, but instead to his surprise Trevelyan simply nodded.

“Right-o, off we go then,” he said cheerfully. “See you at sundown.” And he headed out of the clearing at a brisk stride, Dorian following close behind with an odd smirk on his face.

Varric and Cassandra stared after them for a few moments. Varric cleared his throat.

“That was weird, right?” he said. “Tell me you also thought that was really weird.”

“That was...strange, I’ll grant you,” said Cassandra, slowly. “What on earth could Josephine want out here that she would trust only to the Inquisitor? And why would he not let us accompany him?”

There was a touch of hurt in her voice, and Varric put a reassuring hand on her arm briefly, unable to stop himself.

“I’m sure it’s nothing personal Seeker,” he said. “We’ll just have to trust that there’s a reason.”

“I do trust him,” said Cassandra. “I just wish _he_ would—” She broke off.

“He trusts you,” said Varric, easily guessing the end of her sentence. “He probably thought it just wasn’t important enough to bother you with.” He dropped his hand from her arm, thankful that she had been too distracted to notice the gesture. Andraste’s ass, why he was now acting as Trevelyan’s advocate to Cassandra he couldn’t say, but regardless of his feelings about the pair of them, he didn’t like to see her so obviously snubbed. He cast around for a change of subject.

“Well, look on the bright side,” he said. “There are worse places to be stranded.”

That was true enough, at least. The Emerald Graves might have a rather depressing history, but this forest was a quite extraordinarily beautiful place...especially on a day like this, with the warm summer sun throwing patches of dappled light onto the grass and a pleasantly cool breeze shaking the treetops. Varric had never really been one for wilderness, but this was definitely one of the least objectionable parts of the world he had been dragged to on Inquisition business lately.

Cassandra was surveying the clearing in which they had made camp with a distracted expression that told him the natural beauties of the forest would be far more appreciated if she were simply passing through them on her way to something else. There was no helping some people.

“Think of it as a day off,” he added helpfully.

She turned to him with such a look of dismay at the prospect that he couldn’t help but laugh, which in retrospect was probably a mistake. Cassandra squared her shoulders.

“Well, there is no reason we cannot make use of the time,” she said. “We should investigate that cave we passed yesterday.”

Varric frowned. “You mean that weird little thing by the river that the Inquisitor is convinced will do something if he keeps jumping up and down on top of it?”

“No, that is less than three foot high, it would hardly bear much investigation,” said Cassandra. “Besides, I believe the Inquisitor is...” Loyalty vied with cynicism on her face for a moment. “...mistaken, about that particular rumour,” she finished tactfully. “I mean the large cave a couple of miles north from here.”

“Oh the huge dark one which seemed to go on forever and had mysterious threatening noises coming out of it?” said Varric gloomily.

“Yes,” said Cassandra. “That one.”

“That’s really what you want to do on your day off, Seeker?”

“It is _not_ a day off, Varric.” She frowned at him. “Are you coming or not?”

“Lead the way then,” he replied, resignedly. Frankly, at this point he probably would have gone with her if she had decided to storm the Deep Roads single handed, but it almost certainly wasn’t a good idea to mention this. Varric silently cursed his ability to become hopelessly attached to people whose idea of a good time was going into dark holes in the ground and beating things senseless. Hawke had been bad enough.

The journey to the cave took a little under an hour, by his reckoning. After getting used to the friendly chatter of Trevelyan and the others, it made a change to walk in silence, but not an unpleasant one. Cassandra didn’t really go in for small talk, and Varric decided not to press the issue, not when they were both perfectly comfortable just to enjoy the peace of the forest, broken only by the distant noise of the river and birdsong high in the treetops. It was a nice day, and now they had a goal in mind Cassandra seemed to have relaxed enough that she wasn’t bothering to rush. Varric was beginning to feel quite grateful for this mysterious mission of Josephine’s, whatever it was. There were worse ways to spend a morning than taking a pleasant walk in a sunny forest with the woman he—

But then, he had decided not to think about that, hadn’t he? Why spoil this? Let it be what it was.

When they reached the cave, both of them automatically stopped a little way off to survey the area before approaching.

“By the looks of it, I’d say it goes back some way,” Cassandra said. “And there is certainly something living in it, or the entrance would be more overgrown. But I can’t see movement, so anything within has left the entrance unguarded. I believe our approach will go unnoticed.”

“Or we could just head back instead?” said Varric, more out of form than because he really expected it to work. “Lie around on the grass and catch up on some reading? Relax?”

“It’s too low for a giant at least,” said Cassandra, ignoring him completely. “If we are lucky it will only be a bear, or it could well be a hide of some kind for Freemen scouts. Either way we should be cautious.”

“Caution is my middle name.” said Varric, resigning himself to the situation. Cassandra made a faint disbelieving noise.

“Hey it’s more plausible than any of _your_ middle names, Seeker.”

Cassandra didn’t bother to dignify that comment with a response, instead drawing her sword and moving carefully into the cave entrance. Varric cleared his throat slightly.

“Ah, just a suggestion Seeker, but maybe it might be an idea to let the guy who can see better in the dark go first?”

“Oh.” She looked slightly taken aback, though whether it was more because she had forgotten that fact in the first place or was surprised that he had volunteered it, Varric couldn’t tell. “Yes, of course.”

The cave did go back a long way, winding downwards, and after the first few minutes Cassandra grudgingly lit a torch and slung her shield over her back in order to hold both it and her sword. The flickering firelight would announce their presence to anything in here, but it was better than being completely blind, and even Varric was having trouble now. Frankly he was more worried about tripping over the uneven floor than whatever lived in here.

A brief flicker of movement on the ceiling several yards beyond the torch’s light made him fire a bolt instantly into the dark, and he was rewarded with a soft thud as the thing dropped dead from the cave roof.

“Trouble?” asked Cassandra, and Varric was mildly impressed that she sounded so calm even when he had just unexpectedly shot at something she couldn’t possibly have seen herself. Seeker training, he supposed.

“Spider,” he said. “About the size of a nug, but there could be more.”

“I suppose it’s a good thing the Inquisitor isn’t here after all,” she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice.

Feeling rather more pleased than he probably should have at that comment, Varric continued onwards, but his temporary good cheer was quickly squashed by the discovery that the cave was really a tunnel that ended in a small cavern and that there were, in fact, more spiders. Quite a lot more, actually.

The fire they had brought with them made the horrible things draw back for a few moments before attacking, and Cassandra made good use of the time, managing to jam the lighted torch into a cleft in the cave wall before wading in. Varric sighed and made sure his back was at least against the wall.

Watching her fight was quite something, he had to admit. She didn’t have the sheer brute force of Aveline, or the quick easy grace of Isabela, but she fought with the swift practised movements of one to whom combat was as familiar and natural as conversation. Perhaps more so. Cassandra was so often given to doubt, to second guessing, to rash judgement and temper, but when she fought she was completely in control. Her sword was truly an extension of her arm, as he knew the best warriors would always boast, and every step took her exactly where she needed to be, no unnecessary flourishing, no energy wasted. There was a strange kind of poetry to it.

Of course, the fact that giant hairy spider legs were being lopped off and hurled about the place sort of detracted from the aesthetic appeal of the moment, but still.

One spider was thrown back from the throng by a blow from Cassandra’s shield, and Varric took the opportunity to shoot it in the head as it reared up angrily. He did his best to pick off a couple more of the smaller ones that were darting about the cave, but really Cassandra was doing fine by herself. Spiders were, at least, not the most intelligent of opponents, and hadn’t really grasped the concept of armour.

When the last of them fell, and Cassandra was surrounded by bloated twitching spider corpses, she sheathed her sword and turned to check on Varric, a thoroughly satisfied look on her face.

“Now _that_ was relaxing,” she said.

Varric couldn’t help but laugh. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re completely insane, Seeker?”

Cassandra raised her eyebrows, clearly suppressing a smirk. “I dislike being idle,” she said with some dignity. “Not that you would understand that. You may be happy to lie around all day on the grass, but I prefer to be _doing_ something.”

“You know, it’s really a shame you didn’t get to spend more time with Hawke,” chuckled Varric. “You two actually have a lot in common.”

Cassandra blinked at him in surprise. “Was that a compliment, Varric?”

“Don’t get used to it,” he replied. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

 

* * *

 

Whether it was because Cassandra was trying to compromise or because even _she_ got tired of killing things eventually, the rest of the day was spent rather more peacefully. The formerly spider infested cave didn’t yield much in the way of interest, excepting a human corpse who could have been anyone unlucky enough to wander in there looking for refuge. It wasn’t wearing any uniform either of them could recognise, so they buried it on principle just outside the cave. Burning was more traditional for humans but a burial was still more than most people got these days, and a large fire could easily have attracted unwelcome attention from miles around.

Back at the camp they spent some time checking the traps for food – collecting firewood at least wasn’t an issue in this place, since there was always some literally within arm’s reach – and Cassandra settled down to sharpening her sword while Varric sat on the grass, leaning back against a handy stump and considering where to take Donnen Brennokovick in the next book of _Hard In Hightown._ The recent debacle with ‘The Re-Punchening’ on top of the decidedly lacklustre sequel had actually served to make him feel weirdly protective of the series recently. Besides, it _was_ one of his most popular, so his editor would probably be happy if he decided to continue it after all.

The rhythmic scrape of Cassandra’s sword against the whetstone was strangely soothing. Varric briefly considered that (since nothing had attacked them today that they hadn’t attacked first) he might be able to persuade Cassandra to take off her armour for five damn minutes, but thought better of it. There was probably no way in which he could phrase that which wouldn’t sound vaguely suggestive. Still she was _trying_ to relax, he supposed, in her own way. Small victories, Varric.

The scraping sound stopped, and there was a long silence. Then a faint sigh of exasperation. Knowing Cassandra’s hatred of idleness, Varric started to count down in his head. 3...2...1...

“Are you really just going to sleep?”

Varric opened his eyes, resisting the urge to grin. “I’m not sleeping,” he said. “Whatever you may think Seeker, I actually don’t much like having nothing to do either. So since I’ve got some spare time, I’m using it wisely.”

“By sleeping.”

“Not sleeping. Thinking.”

“I didn’t realise you needed to set aside extra time for that,” said Cassandra dryly. “It explains a lot.”

Varric let that one pass, since he had kind of walked into it. “I’m working out plotlines,” he explained. “Dialogue, characters. Whatever.”

“For your books? You don’t just make it up as you go along?”

Varric shrugged. “Sometimes. But I like to have some idea at least where I’m headed, even if I don’t know how I’m going to get there yet. I know how I want things to turn out, but I have to find a way to let the characters make their own way there.”

“I...see,” said Cassandra, in a tone of voice that suggested the opposite. Varric was reminded of the previous conversation they had had about his writing – last week in the garden at Skyhold, the day before they had set off for the forest. He suddenly felt another stab of guilt about what he had said, especially given Trevelyan’s unusually dismissive attitude towards Cassandra today. Stupid really, she had almost certainly forgotten the entire thing herself. Still.

“I could use some help actually, if you’re willing,” he said impulsively, enjoying the look of obvious surprise on Cassandra’s face.

“How?” she said, slightly suspiciously.

“Just listen and tell me what you think,” he said. “You’re good at that, if I recall.”

What was left of the afternoon passed in a pleasant blur. Cassandra seemed happy to have a distraction in the form of Varric’s books, even if they were as yet unwritten. She was a good sounding board too – clearly invested in the characters and the story, but also more than willing to tell him if something he was planning didn’t make sense. It turned out she had read _Hard in Hightown_ as well, though she didn’t enjoy it as much as _Swords and Shields_ , and she had a completely different take on young Jevlan’s character and motivation than he did. Actually, after she had ranted at him about it for several minutes, he wasn’t entirely sure she was wrong either.

Varric genuinely enjoyed her company. It was a bittersweet thought – before, he might have been pleasantly surprised at the revelation, but now it felt rather like another twist of the knife. This time with her was an unexpected, one-off thing, forced by circumstance. Doubtless if given the choice Cassandra really would have preferred to be back at Skyhold planning strategy, or off with the Inquisitor...wherever.

Realising that he had feelings for her had been a shock, but in a way discovering that he _liked_ her too was even stranger. Who’d have thought?

Somewhere along the line their conversation about the ostensibly fictional characters of his books turned into him telling her tales of the old Kirkwall days, upon which a lot of his stuff was heavily based. Varric was halfway through an anecdote about Hawke’s uncle Gamlen that had Cassandra laughing – actual, out-loud laughter, a sound that was worth a hundred spider infested caves – when a familiar voice cut in.

“Not interrupting anything, are we?”

“Inquisitor!” Cassandra scrambled to her feet hurriedly, and Varric felt a familiar pang as he noticed the faint blush once again suffusing her cheeks. Trevelyan and Dorian had returned to camp looking none the worse for wear, but with no indication that he could see of what they had actually spent the day doing.

“We were taking a well earned break after a day of spider slaying,” said Varric easily. Noticing the Inquisitor’s shudder, he grinned. “Thought you’d be glad you missed that.”

“No kidding,” said the Inquisitor. “Well if that’s what you want to do on your day off, far be it from me to stop you.”

Varric carefully avoided catching Cassandra’s eye.

“So were you successful?” she was asking the Inquisitor.

“Hmm? Was what successful?”

“Your...whatever it was you were doing for Josephine.”

“Oh that,” said Trevelyan airily. “It’s um...it’s getting there. We made progress today, I think.”

There was a meaningful pause.

“So...are you going to tell us what it is?” prompted Varric.

“Not yet. You’ll find out sooner or later.”

“Probably later, by the way things are going,” muttered Dorian. The Inquisitor poked him sharply.

Varric gave up. Let the Inquisitor keep his secrets. It wasn’t as if he were the only one, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used to use my time during long boring shifts in the stockroom at work to think up plotlines and dialogue! Once I got distracted and dropped a washing machine on my foot. Three months later, my toe is still blue.
> 
> Don’t forget to comment if you’re enjoying this fic, and come back tomorrow for Chapter 5 – ‘Demons and Daydreams’ :)


	5. Demons and Daydreams

_The Arlessa tensed as the dark shape grew nearer, outlined in the flickering firelight. It was vast, nearly twice as tall as she was, and...horns! It had horns! A demon!_

_She drew her sword and stood up to face it, heart trembling but hand steady. If this was to be her end, then she would face it head on, like her father did._

Varric dipped his quill in the ink pot and poised it above the paper, considering. First impressions. First impressions were always important. This would be a meeting his characters would remember for the rest of their fictional lives, after all.

_“Woah! Calm down lady,” said the shape, in an amused voice. It stepped into the circle of firelight with its hands raised in a gesture of peace. The Arlessa did not lower her sword, but felt relief rush through her all the same. Not a demon. It was a qunari. Huge yes, but mortal enough and perhaps able to be reasoned with. More importantly, his greataxe was swinging at his side, and he was smiling in what he probably thought was a reassuring way._

_“Who are you?” she asked sharply, wary of letting her guard down even now._

_“Depends who you ask,” said the qunari in a deep voice. “Been called a lot of things. Who are you, lady?”_

_The Arlessa drew herself up to her full height, which was admittedly not very high. “I am Arlessa Isobel Monford, and these lands are mine by right. You will not address me as ‘lady’ but as ‘Arlessa’ or...” she realised how strange it was going to sound even as she said it “...’my lady’.”_

_The qunari looked amused. “So I can’t call you ‘lady’ but ‘my lady’ is fine? You humans are weird.”_

_“What business do you have on my lands?”_

_“I could ask you the same question,” he replied, eyeing her shrewdly. “Does the Arlessa usually camp out alone at_

“Varric?”

Varric jumped slightly at the interruption. He had been slipping easily into the flow of dialogue between his two new characters, which was generally a good sign. He still had to hear back from his editor about the next _Hard in Hightown_ , but he had developed a sort of block where _Swords and Shields_ was concerned, and so had decided a new romance serial might be a decent idea to get back into the swing of things, even if it was never published.

He was vaguely considering dedicating it to Cassandra, just to see the look on her face.

Speaking of which, the Inquisitor was standing in front of the desk now with an unusually serious expression on his. “Sorry for interrupting,” he said. “Is this a bad time?”

“Nah,” said Varric. “Go ahead.”

Trevelyan sighed, clearly troubled. “This isn’t exactly for the Inquisition, but it’s something I can’t ignore. I need a favour, Varric.”

“Sure,” said Varric automatically. The Inquisitor winced.

“You might want to find out what it is first,” he said slowly.

 

* * *

 

The demon’s face was pale, eyes large and glittering black, almost insectoid. Huge curling horns protruded from its forehead, and it floated without any apparent effort several feet above the ground. Apart from that, it looked like a woman. A mostly naked woman, in fact. Desire demons might be powerful magically, Varric thought, but they didn’t have much in the way of imagination. It could at least have had the decency to appear as a female _dwarf_. Not that he had much personal preference either way, but it was the principle of the thing. He supposed demons didn’t have much experience in dealing with dwarves.

“So you sought me out then?” the creature said, looking him up and down. “Interesting...”

“Yeah, I’m cursed with an interesting life,” said Varric. Bianca was slung across his back, but there was no way he’d reach her in time before the thing used one of its more offensive forms of magic on him. The frozen corpses he had seen scattered along the path had told him all he wanted to know of its capabilities. For now its curiosity was probably the only thing keeping him alive.

“You came to destroy me?” it said. “Would a child of the stone succeed where the elves fail? Have the people put such faith in outsiders now?”

“I’m pretty sure they would have hired a one handed nug wrangler if they thought it would get rid of you,” replied Varric. He had a couple of easily reachable flasks on his belt that Sera had given him which were useful for a quick getaway, but a demon would probably see through any trick like that.

“And yet you come here with your guard down, your weapon sheathed...” The demon practically purred the words, clearly enjoying the obvious innuendo. Varric restrained himself from rolling his eyes with difficulty. “So perhaps you come to talk? Perhaps you see the opportunity where the elves did not?”

“I think maybe the bloody swathe of corpses you cut through their clan might have distracted them,” said Varric. “If you were going for a sales pitch it might have been a bad idea to start by possessing the Keeper’s daughter.”

“Such a pretty little thing,” said the demon. “So full of _wanting_. I gave her the power to rule her clan as she desired, to destroy those who feared her for her gifts. I cannot be blamed for how she used it. I assure you I had only her happiness at heart.”

“But you let her die as well.”

“There is always a price to pay for such gifts. She needn’t have paid it then, foolish girl. She could have simply cut down those who turned on her. To die was her own choice.” The demon caressed one of its breasts absently as it regarded Varric. “But let us not speak of such dull things,” it said, with a smile that didn’t reach its inky eyes. “The past is past and the people are limited. Your mind is so much more...open.”

It drifted a little closer and Varric resisted the urge to back away. When it spoke again its voice was soft and persuasive. “We could come to a more beneficial accord, you and I. You need not die here like the others.”

Varric gave a hollow laugh. “You must be desperate if you’re trying to possess a dwarf.”

“I need not possess you either.” Its eyes bored into his. “And if you wish to speak of desperation, I know what it is _you_ desire. What has haunted your thoughts for so long now...”

“Nothing you have the power to give me,” he said, as steadily as he could.

“Oh? Sweet, naive man, think you I have no power over the minds of mortals?” The demon trilled a melodic laugh. “If you were but to treat with me...I could have her _ache_ for you. I could have her worship your every word, please your every whim, and be happy to do so.” Its voice dropped to a husky murmur. “I could have her naked on her knees in front of you, _begging_ for your touch.”

Varric laughed again, without much humour. “If that’s what you think I want, then you’re out of practice,” he said flatly.

The demon’s face twisted unpleasantly. “Oh so high and mighty, my little romantic,” it sneered. “Be a fool if you will, you know as well as I that she will _never_ want you otherwise.”

It was at that point that a blast of white hot flame hit the demon in the back.

It screamed a terrible high pitched, unearthly sound. For a moment it was silhouetted against the fire, a sinuous shape with back arched and head thrown back, eyes wide as its skin was torn away...and then it crumpled to the floor in a tangle of pale mottled limbs, half ash.

Varric hadn’t moved. “Yeah, I know,” he said quietly to the corpse on the ground. He glanced up to where Trevelyan had been sneaking around the back of the demon along the distant cliff-face to get a decent shot in. Their Inquisitor was doing a kind of victory jig, twirling his staff in his hands. He paused when he saw Varric looking and gave him a grin and a double thumbs up.

“Just keep the demon busy Varric, that’s all,” muttered Varric to himself as he made his way towards where Trevelyan was climbing down. “Distract it while I go round the back so it doesn’t have time to shield itself. Talk to it, you’re good at that! _Shit._ ”

Varric’s favour for the Inquisitor had actually turned out to be a favour for Iron Bull...which was in turn a favour for Dalish. The Chargers’ resident definitely-not-a-mage had received word from her former clan about some kind of dark force moving through their people, strange disappearances, apparently accidental deaths...

A demon, basically. A particularly powerful, if not terribly subtle, desire demon.

The Inquisitor jumped down the last couple of feet from the cliff to the ground, and clapped Varric on the shoulder heartily. “What a team!” he said. “Couldn’t have done it without you Varric. I appreciate this, you know.”

“Your wish is my command, your Inquisitorialness,” replied Varric with a slight bow for effect.

Trevelyan made a face. “Don’t even joke about that,” he said. “You’d be amazed how many people really think that way.”

“I’ll amend it to include ‘within reason’ then,” said Varric amiably. “I’m surprised you didn’t take Iron Bull along though.”

“He offered,” said Trevelyan, as the two started back along the path to the Dalish camp. “He likes to look out for his Chargers. But he really hates demons, especially what he calls ‘the talky kind’. This one liked to make deals, so I figured you’d be a better bet for lulling it into a false sense of security.”

“Wow, I’m flattered.”

“Hey, it worked, didn’t it? You distract it, I blast it. Solid plan.” Trevelyan eyed him curiously. “Speaking of which, what were you talking about?”

“Real estate prices,” said Varric.

The Inquisitor laughed, but didn’t press the issue, and with the conversation dried up for the moment Varric was left to try not to brood as they walked along. The problem with trying not to brood was that even in _trying_ you ended up brooding about not brooding, so the whole thing was pretty much self defeating.

At least the Inquisitor seemed as blissfully unaware of Varric’s preoccupation as ever, strolling through the forest with every appearance of a man on top of the world. And why wouldn’t he be? Maker’s chosen, hero of the common folk, saviour of the mages, beloved by all. Beloved by some especially, Varric thought bitterly. Trevelyan clearly had romance on the brain too; he had been talking about the first girl he’d ever kissed on the trip here, a fellow mage in the circle who had taught him all he knew about fire magic. It had actually been quite a sweet story, and the part of Varric’s brain that he couldn’t seem to turn off had made a mental note of it in case he ever needed some back-story for the inevitable book about Markus Trevelyan: Herald of Andraste.

What hadn’t been as charming was Markus Trevelyan: Unstoppable Busybody. He had spent quite a bit of time trying to finagle details of Varric’s love life from him in return, and that was one thing that Varric really wasn’t fond of telling stories about. They were all too depressing for a start. The Inquisitor had even asked about Bianca, which made Varric realise with a jolt that he himself hadn’t given Bianca a thought in quite a while.

He wondered if Trevelyan had been recalling his first kiss because he had been thinking about kissing someone else. Or perhaps he had already...

And there it was again, never far from his mind these days. Varric silently chastised himself for not being able to let the damn subject rest. Thinking about the Inquisitor kissing Cassandra naturally led him to think about himself kissing Cassandra instead, which in some ways was even worse. The problem wasn’t that he couldn’t ever picture it happening. The problem was that he _could_ picture it happening. Very vividly, in fact. Recently, the thought had a nasty habit of popping into his head whenever he talked to her, and it was distracting as hell.

Andraste’s ass, he was in so much trouble. The more he tried to put this whole mess out of his mind, the more he thought maybe that was what he had been doing this whole time. Perhaps for a lot longer than he had realised.

Not for the first time, he powerfully missed the old days back in Kirkwall, where he was surrounded by people he could trust. Not that he didn’t _trust_ the Inquisition of course, but they were all very...what Sera would call ‘big’. Nobles and notables and knight enchanters, led by the Maker’s own chosen. Varric glanced to the right, where his companion was humming under his breath as he strolled down the path. Trevelyan was alright, but he was rushed off his feet most days, and the others were really more allies than friends. Varric missed the days when the people around him were just a bunch of outcasts thrown together by circumstance; people who had each other’s backs because no-one else would, who you go and have a drink with in the tavern at the end of day...

Ha, he was getting maudlin now. Wasn’t as if he could ask any of his old Kirkwall friends for advice about this anyway. Aveline might be happily married, but the others were romantic disaster areas, and she had only escaped that fate due to some strenuous intervention from Hawke.

The thought of Hawke trying to set up Cassandra and himself in her usual brash, tactless way made Varric chuckle out loud. Well, at least things could be worse. Perhaps he should be glad his friend wasn’t around to see this.

“You alright?” Trevelyan was smiling down at him, obviously having noticed his amusement.

“Huh? Sure,” said Varric. “Just remembered something funny, don’t worry about it.”

“Nice to see you looking cheerful,” replied Trevelyan. “You’ve been distracted recently, haven’t you?”

Maker’s balls, first demons and now the Inquisitor. Trevelyan wasn’t as oblivious as he’d thought. No wonder the man had been trying to get him to talk about his personal life, if even he had noticed something was wrong.

“Trouble with a book,” said Varric. “It’ll sort itself out.”

Trevelyan was giving him an unusually shrewd look, which was slightly disconcerting, but to his relief simply replied with: “Well you know I’m a fan, so if I can ever help with something just let me know.”

_Well you could stop being such a decent person for five minutes, so I could get some satisfaction from properly resenting you._

“I will,” said Varric, forcing a smile. “After all, you owe me a favour now.”

 

* * *

 

He really hadn’t meant to eavesdrop again.

It wasn’t as if he made a _habit_ of it, after all. Rogue or not, after years of being in the Merchant’s Guild, Varric had learnt that reading between the lines of what people said to your face was generally far more useful than skulking around trying to learn what they said about you behind your back. Eavesdropping was for amateurs.

But there was a celebration in the Herald’s Rest after their return, and Varric had managed to get away for long enough to head upstairs to try and find Cole and give him the box of watercolour paints he had finally managed to buy, and...there were Leliana and Josephine, sitting at a table in the corner on the upper floor of the tavern, deep in conversation.

He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. But it just so happened that he was out of sight when he heard Leliana say:

“So how is your little project going?”

And how could he resist that? It was, after all, the same question that had been eating away at him for weeks.

“You’ll have to be more specific than that,” said Josephine. “What project?”

“Our two prospective lovebirds?”

“Oh that,” said Josephine, who was wearing a rather pretty crown of flowers woven into her hair. “As well as can be expected. But I’m going to give it a rest for a while. I cannot force things, after all.”

“Mmm. I suspect you may also have been distracted by...other things?”

Josephine laughed. “Tease all you want. I don’t mind anymore.”

“I’m not surprised. I saw you two together the other day. I’m happy for you Josie.”

“So am I. Oh I wish everyone could be as happy as I am!”

“Well, as you say, forcing things isn’t always the right thing to do,” said Leliana. “However tempting it may be. I’m sure others will be able to find their own happiness in time.”

“Some people do seem to try their hardest to make it difficult for themselves though,” smiled Josephine. “Sometimes I wonder if—”

A burst of laughter from downstairs drowned out the rest of her words, and brought Varric to his senses. He headed quickly back down, a little ashamed of himself, deciding to seek out Cole another time.

Still, he couldn’t help but feel somewhat relieved. At least as far as Josephine knew, there hadn’t been any new development concerning Trevelyan and Cassandra. That was...comforting, even if Varric knew full well it was just putting off the inevitable. Their affection for each other was obvious. Regardless of how difficult Cassandra might make such endeavours, surely the two would work things out sooner or later, even if their Ambassador had temporarily given up on matchmaking.

A thought occurred to him suddenly. That couldn’t have been what the whole ‘mysterious mission for Josephine’ in the Emerald Graves had been about, could it? Just how sending Trevelyan off for the day without Cassandra was supposed to bring the two closer together was beyond him. Either Josephine was playing a particularly complicated game, or there was some aspect to it that he hadn’t worked out yet. Perhaps Trevelyan had been off buying a gift or something – that would explain the point of leaving Cassandra behind at least, though surely there were more subtle ways of doing it.

And who in the Maker’s name was Josephine courting? The Ambassador always played things close to the chest, but Varric was a people watcher by nature and usually found out these things through gossip if nothing else. He was beginning to think there must be something obvious he was missing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Varric, I love you, but you’re a frigging idiot. 
> 
> The story he’s writing at the start of this chapter may be vaguely familiar to anyone who has read a previous fic of mine, ‘Literary Criticism’. The Arlessa and the Qunari is an ongoing project of Varric’s, and if you like you can take that ficlet as part of this one’s canon, in which case it takes place between this and the next chapter.
> 
> Fun fact: I was going to call this chapter ‘horny beasts’ in keeping with my title puns so far but I...I just couldn’t do it.
> 
> Don’t forget to comment if you’re enjoying this fic, and come back tomorrow for Chapter 6 – ‘Sparks Flying’ :)


	6. Sparks Flying

The rain drummed down so thickly it was almost a solid mass, turning the already soft ground into a mire, veiling the distant mountains from sight. Every rock in the grass was a slippery menace, every movement slowed by clothes heavy with water. The icy waters of Crestwood’s lake boomed in the distance, offsetting the steady roar of rain that muffled every attempted word to obscurity.

The weather could best be described, Varric decided, as ‘shitty with an extremely high chance of dragon’.

The thing roared its displeasure, claws sinking into the mud, throwing great sprays of water as it beat its wings in fury. Whether the rain was making it too difficult to fly or whether it was just so hungry it would rather eat them all than kill them from the air, Varric didn’t know. And honestly, didn’t care. The only thing worse than a dragon in the air was a dragon on the ground – dragons looked like they _belonged_ in the air, but standing here in front of him it was just too immense to seem real, like shooting at a mountain.

Frankly, in this weather a nice gout of flame would have been almost welcome, and so of course it turned out the damn thing breathed lightning.

Stray flickers of bright electricity lanced through the air between raindrops, crackling across the sodden earth. The shimmering blue barrier that Trevelyan had cast around them all as the dragon approached fizzed and faded into nothing, leaving Varric feeling horribly exposed as he dodged the attacks. He looked around for Trevelyan, but he was...where _was_ he? For that matter, where was _anyone?_

The sudden moment of panic was alleviated somewhat as he spotted Cassandra, grim faced and drenched, hacking away at the dragon’s legs as she darted between them. But Iron Bull and the Inquisitor were nowhere in sight, and Varric squinted into the rain with rising dread, desperately searching for the familiar shape of horns or the flare of a staff...

His distraction nearly cost him his life as with a sudden flick of the dragon’s tail, Bianca was whipped out of his hands and thrown through the air and out of sight into the driving rain. Varric didn’t have much time to process this, as the blow also knocked him to the ground and he lay there breathless for a moment, too stunned to move. Somewhere in the back of his pounding head, he thought:

_Why not come to Crestwood – the ultimate holiday destination! Marvel at our rich variety of local wildlife; hordes of undead AND dragons! And if that doesn’t tempt you, come just for our beautiful weather!_

As soon as his rational brain reasserted itself, Varric leapt up, expecting the swipe of a claw or the snap of jaws any second. There was a hot lance of pain across his chest – one of the dragon’s tail spines must have caught him – but the cut didn’t seem deep, so he ignored it. He had more pressing issues.

The dragon was...above him. He was standing almost between its front legs, and Varric realised he must have been unconscious for at least a few seconds after being knocked down, because he was fairly certain he had been behind it before. The reason he wasn’t already dead quickly became apparent as he realised the dragon was now entirely focused on Cassandra, it’s head low to the ground as it snapped at her, the Seeker deflecting blow after blow with her shield but unable to get an angle of attack.

She had saved his sorry ass again. And if she had saved it just so that he could see her become dragon food, he’d never forgive her.

And so Varric did one of the more stupid things he’d done recently, which was saying something. He grabbed hold of the rough scales as they moved within arm’s reach, and swung himself up onto the dragon’s neck. He regretted the decision almost immediately – Varric was more agile than people usually gave him credit for, but the thing’s head was thrashing to and fro as it tried to target Cassandra, and the scales were slippery with rain. Varric gritted his teeth and scrambled inch by inch towards its head, not sure whether it had even noticed what he had done. Well that would soon change.

He didn’t have Bianca, but he’d be a fool to carry only one weapon, and he risked releasing one hand’s grip on the bony ridges of the dragon’s head for a moment to scrabble at his boot and pull out a short, wickedly sharp knife. Thank you, Isabela. He nearly fumbled the blade as the dragon swung its head around again but caught it just in time and, cursing under his breath, crawled forward, clutching at every available handhold, focused only on his goal—

_Oh yeah, they should definitely put this in the tourist brochure._

Varric let out a wordless shout of pure exhilaration, and drove the knife deep into the dragon’s eye. It let out a horrible screaming roar of pain and threw its head back, sending Varric flying for the second time in as many minutes. This time he was able to roll with the fall and scramble to his feet in time to see the great beast thrashing around, now utterly unconcerned with what Cassandra was doing. It turned its head to fix its one remaining eye murderously on Varric, standing unprotected just a few yards away...and Cassandra hit it from the side, bringing her sword in a great sweep that cleaved  into its thick, blood encrusted skull.

And it went down, collapsing to the sodden ground with a thump that shook the earth.

Varric could only stand there, out of breath and half stunned as Cassandra spun around to face him. She was covered in blood, soaked to the skin and panting from exertion. Her face was flushed, eyes bright with adrenaline and she was... _magnificent._

Her eyes raked across him, and Varric was suddenly very aware that he probably looked like hell – his shirt had been half torn off, there was a long bloody gash across his chest, and he was covered in sweat and mud. His hair had come loose at some point too, and he dragged his hand self consciously through the sodden tendrils hanging around his face.

She took a step towards him and he couldn’t help but notice the swift rise and fall of her chest, the heat in her gaze, her slightly parted lips. Maker’s breath, the way she was looking at him...

“DAMN that was badass!”

Varric’s head snapped around at the sound of Iron Bull’s voice to see him and the Inquisitor jogging towards them through the mud.

“What in the Maker’s name happened to you two?” said Cassandra, sheathing her sword. “You disappeared halfway through the battle!”

“Sorry about that Seeker,” said Bull. “We got attacked by wolves from behind. Fucking _wolves_. Probably thought they could take out the weakest member of our pack while we were distracted and drag him off for a meal.” Bull grinned and held up a couple of dripping wolf skins to demonstrate how well that plan had worked out.

“They may not have succeeded, but the dragon nearly did,” said Cassandra, sounding severe.

“It was bad timing,” said Trevelyan. “But we knew you’d be alright.” He smiled broadly at her. “No Pentaghast would be taken down by a little dragon like that!”

“Ah you both did great,” said Bull. “Knife in its eye Varric? _Beautiful_. Although I don’t think this one was nearly as tough as the one in the Hinterlands. You should’ve seen _her_ when we finally took her down.” The huge qunari slapped Varric cheerfully on the back, nearly knocking him over. “Really gets the old blood flowing, doesn’t it?” he said.

Varric made a vague noise of assent, carefully not looking anywhere near Cassandra. The blood pounding through his veins had nothing to do with the dragon. He tried to think of anything to say, some witty remark or cheerful jibe, but for once any words seemed to get lost on the way to his mouth. Shit.

He was saved from an awkward silence by Trevelyan, who appeared to have been thinking. “Wait a minute,” he said, frowning at Bull. “What do you mean ‘the weakest member of our pack?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short chapter this time, more of an interlude, because I wanted to include some Hot! Dragon! Slaying! Action!
> 
> Don’t forget to comment if you’re enjoying this fic, and come back tomorrow for Chapter 7 – ‘Points of View’ :)


	7. Points of View

_Varric,_

_What – and I mean this in the nicest possible way – the hell is wrong with you? You don’t write for weeks and then send me a letter that’s so ridiculously upbeat I thought at first you had written it at knifepoint and were trying to tip me off with me some kind of secret code. You’re not, are you? Because you’re going to have to be more obvious about it if so._

Varric groaned. For someone who was about as subtle as a bear trap, Hawke could be annoyingly perceptive at times.

He had opened the letter as soon as it had been delivered to his desk, courtesy of one of Leliana’s people, which meant she wasn’t even pretending that she didn’t read everyone’s mail any more. Come to think of it, that was a disturbing thought – Hawke couldn’t possibly realise the cause of his distraction recently, but Leliana...well, anything she did suspect would be pure speculation, he comforted himself, and Nightingale could certainly keep a secret.

Still, now Hawke could be added to the growing list of people who had picked up on something different about him, and he was beginning to think maybe it was only a matter of time, that his intention to simply ignore his feelings wasn’t working. Even Dorian had made some comment last week about him and Cassandra that had nearly given him a heart attack, though he wasn’t sure how much of it was meant in jest. It was hard to tell with Dorian. Varric had brushed it off easily with an incredulous denial and a quick change of subject, but such tactics wouldn’t work forever on those who knew him well.

The former Champion of Kirkwall, for example. Varric continued to read:

_Seriously though, you wrote a whole load about what the Inquisition is doing, about what the Inquisitor is doing, about what I’m doing...but you didn’t write a single word about yourself. No griping about the places you’ve been, no stuff about your latest book, no nothing. You didn’t even complain once about Seeker Whatsername. I might as well have been reading an official report. So did something happen? It’s not Bianca, is it? I know you said you were through playing her games, but I know you, and...and I should stop guessing, shouldn’t I? But I’m worried about you, and you know that makes me cranky._

Andraste’s ass, Varric was beginning to think maybe _he_ wasn’t as subtle as he’d thought he was either. Even Hawke, hundreds of miles away, was far closer to the truth than he was comfortable with. Had he really complained so much about Cassandra in the past that his friend instantly noticed the absence of a mention in his latest letter? He _had_ felt weird not writing about her, since she was on his mind so much these days and she was really the cause of his unusually long break in correspondence, but it had never occurred to him that Hawke would find it weird not to hear about her too.

At least the exclusion of Cassandra in his letter had been deliberate – Varric hadn’t even realised he’d been so obviously cagey about the rest of his personal life too. But the truth was, anything he might write about himself now felt like a huge lie by omission, and he didn’t really like lying to Hawke, who was one of the few people he genuinely trusted. But what could he have said? How could he possibly talk about how he was doing when so much of his time was spent pining – and yes, even he had to admit he _was_ pining, pathetic though it was – over a woman he could never have? _Again._

Even the reason Varric hadn’t mentioned the book he was working on was because a lot of the interaction between the Arlessa and the Qunari (sodding ancestors, he must think of a name for the guy...maybe Bull could suggest something?) was starting to look suspiciously like conversations that had taken place between himself and Cassandra. He’d have to watch out for that in future.

Truth be told, the only things he could think of to tell Hawke when writing to her all seemed to involve the Seeker in one way or another. How had she become such a presence in his life without him even noticing? He had found it strange writing about the Inquisition’s plans for Halamshiral without also mentioning that Cassandra was obviously dreading the whole thing. He didn’t tell Hawke about the Dalish Desire Demon (and that was an interesting title for a book right there) because he didn’t want her to know how much it frightened him that it had gotten into his mind so easily, and what it had seen there. He couldn’t write about the dragon they had killed together without remembering the moment afterwards when he had thought...just for a second...

There had been more moments like that recently, little things Cassandra had done or said that had caused small foolish rays of hope to appear, things that kept him near her even though he knew that closeness would only hurt him more in the long run.

The Inquisitor had mentioned in passing the other day that he had been talking to Cassandra about faith, and she had apparently told him that Varric was Andrastian. He didn’t even remember telling her that. She had also apparently said that ‘his heart is virtuous’. The Inquisitor seemed to think this was rather funny, which...well it _was_ actually, since Varric had been called a lot of things in his life but ‘virtuous’ was not one of them. Still, mainly he was just surprised that Cassandra had given any thought at all to the contents of his heart.

The irony that it was Trevelyan who had delivered this little bit of hope was not lost on him. He turned back to his letter:

_The Inquisition is full of good people, I saw that when I was there, but I don’t like to think of you stuck there just out of some sense of duty or guilt or...whatever. You could always go back to Kirkwall, you know, or even come here. The Wardens could use your help. They could use all the help they can get right now to be honest, and I know Bethany would love to see you again too. Think about it, ok? I know you said you wanted to see this through, but there are plenty of ways to do that._

_Look, if I’m wrong, tell me and I’ll drop it. But your letter just seemed so...unlike you. Something’s on your mind, and if I was there I’d get you drunk until you told me what it was (ok so you can drink me under the table but I bet Isabela could weasel it out of you no problem) but since I’m not then I’m just going to have to ask you to trust me. I’ve still got your back Varric. And if you need help then just say the word._

_Hawke_

Varric folded up the letter with a sigh and stowed it in his pocket. Then he spread out his latest work-in progress book across the desk and dipped his quill in the ink, more for appearances than anything. He stared at the paper in front of him, eyes unfocused. To anyone passing in the hall he’d probably look like he had a case of writer’s block, and that wasn’t untrue, in a way. Life was a story after all, and he had no idea where this one was going.

Hawke had presented him with a possible next chapter at least, and it was one he had been considering himself, somewhere at the back of his mind. He had been tempted to follow Hawke to Weisshaupt when she had gone in the first place, but leaving the Inquisition had seemed selfish at the time. Now...perhaps the more selfish thing was to stay.

After all, did the Inquisition really _need_ him? Had it ever, or was it just his own guilt that had kept him here? He was a good shot and a smooth talker, but there were now plenty of both among the ranks of the faithful, and one wouldn’t be missed. He had friends here of course, but he also had friends elsewhere he owed some time to, and perhaps they needed him more.

It wouldn’t be running away. It would be a sensible change of direction based on circumstances beyond his control, a rational decision made for the benefit of everyone concerned.

And he’d never see Cassandra again.

 

* * *

 

It was later that day that Cole found him. Varric was leaning on the battlements, idly watching the people in the courtyard below. You could tell a lot about someone, he thought, by which way they looked when they were up on the battlements. Some would automatically look at the view, the distant snow capped mountains, the endless sky, the world beyond. The Inquisitor did, Cullen too, and Blackwall. Varric always stood the other side, watching the people below in the castle, figures scurrying to and fro, little groups meeting and breaking up, life bustling away under his gaze. Mountains were just mountains, but people were endlessly varied and fascinating. Sera was a courtyard watcher as well, he knew. And Josephine. He’d be willing to bet on Vivienne, though he’d never seen her up here.

Cole too, of course.

Varric became aware of his presence – and that was the only way to put it, because it was never seeing or hearing with the kid exactly, just a gradual awareness that you were no longer alone – several minutes before either of them acknowledged the other. Cole was sitting on top of the battlements next to him, legs dangling, watching the courtyard below. Iron Bull was out there chatting to the Inquisitor outside the tavern, Lead Scout Harding was reading a book in the sunshine, and Cassandra was giving the training dummies a good thrashing, as usual. That was _her_ method of distracting herself when something was on her mind, Varric knew full well. He smiled as he remembered the spider infested cave in the Emerald Graves. Rest and relaxation, Cassandra Pentaghast style.

He didn’t even bother to pretend he wasn’t watching her. It was a public place, after all, and this could be his last chance.

Cole naturally followed his gaze, or perhaps his thoughts, and presently spoke in a dreamy voice:

“His hands in my hair, lips on my skin and it’s _wonderful_ and terrible both. A foolish thought that I can’t stop thinking. Why him of all people? A light in the darkness, unexpected source. It burns so sweetly inside, it’s been so _long_ since I felt this I’d forgotten. When he looks at me I wonder if he knows. Let him hate me again instead, please Maker, I can stand anything but his pity.”

Varric stared at Cole for a moment, then sighed, rubbing his temples wearily. “We’ve talked about this kid, you’ve got to be more careful about speaking other people’s thoughts out loud.”

Cole looked confused. “You told me only to give people things that are already theirs?”

“Yeah.”

“But that was...” Cole paused. “Oh I see!” His face suddenly lit up. “The source isn’t the subject, and you’re silent to each other! Like a crossroad that never meets.”

“Uh...sure.”

“That’s very sad.” There was a long pause, and then... “You’re going to leave.”

Varric didn’t bother with denials. “I haven’t decided yet,” he said truthfully.

“It hurts to stay, biting inside, regret, uncertainty. But it hurts to leave too. Home is where the heart is, but it causes nothing but trouble, better to leave it behind.” Cole blinked at him, eyes bright. “I can’t help because the picture isn’t yours,” he said sadly. “You said you didn’t want to see. Not my place to show you. Keep that one to yourself, kid.”

He hopped off the battlements lightly. “I would miss you if you went away,” he said, and walked off without another word.

 

* * *

 

If Varric was going to leave – and he hadn’t decided for sure yet, he told himself, there was still time – then the first person to know should really be the Inquisitor himself. He owed the man that much.

So late that afternoon, after eating a lunch he couldn’t remember a single bite of, Varric headed towards the war room, nodding briefly to Josephine as he passed through her office. He had already marshalled his arguments for leaving, built up a completely convincing list of reasons of why he could be of more use to the Inquisition _away_ from Skyhold, and hoped against hope that Trevelyan didn’t ask him what specifically had happened recently to prompt the decision. He was sure to argue against it, at least.

It occurred to Varric as he passed the familiar hole in the wall of the corridor that he would miss Skyhold when he left; this huge, drafty place miles from civilisation. Strange to think it, but it had become a home, of a sort. Despite everything, he’d miss the Inquisitor too. He’d always hated goodbyes.

He approached the huge wooden door to the war room and was surprised to see it closed – when there wasn’t a meeting in progress it usually stood open, and though this was where Dorian had told him the Inquisitor was, Varric had rather expected him to be alone. He raised his hand somewhat self consciously to knock on the door—

“You...you know? You knew all along?”

Varric stopped short, hand inches from the woodwork. Cassandra’s voice was coming clearly through the door, and she sounded utterly horrified.

“Maybe not all along,” came the reply, and Varric recognised the deeper tones as Trevelyan’s. “But for a while. Back when we fought those Venatori on the Exhalted Plains, I thought there might be something there. And it was...kind of obvious how you felt once Josephine had pointed it out to me.”

Varric winced. Despite his proclivity for eavesdropping recently, this was clearly not a conversation he should be hearing. Cassandra would be mortified enough at such a blunt revelation without there being a third party witness as well. He turned on his heel and quickly headed back towards Josephine’s room, hearing Trevelyan’s words fading into the distance as he drew further from the door:

“ _It’s nothing to be ashamed of...allowed to have feelings you know...didn’t...I wish you had...”_

Varric was glad that by the time he reached the door to the Ambassador’s office he was far enough away that he couldn’t hear Cassandra’s response. Well, that was it then. It was all out in the open. He was desperate to know what Trevelyan’s response had been, and equally dreading it. After all, if the man had any sense at all then right now in the war room he and Cassandra were probably...

Varric headed through Josephine’s office as fast as he could, catching her puzzled look at his sudden return but not in any mood to think of an excuse. Without any real destination in mind, he wandered through the main hall and found himself in the garden. He sat down on the bench on which Cassandra had once joined him and thanked him for his books. That was one thing he had been able to do for her at least, one thing that she might think well of him for when he was gone. If she thought of him at all.

Several hours later Varric was still there, unable to think of anything else to do. He felt very tired, the aching, bone-deep exhaustion of life catching up to him.

Evening was setting in and Varric still needed to talk to Trevelyan, but couldn’t face it. He vaguely entertained the idea of getting hopelessly drunk but decided it probably wouldn’t help. Hadn’t helped when Bianca had gotten married either. Sweet fucking Andraste, he was a mess. He wasn’t sure he could _do_ this again – see the woman he loved choose someone else, to have to be accepting and affable and make his usual jokes and then go back to lie in his bed alone staring at the ceiling and _wishing._ Varric Tethras, confirmed bachelor.

The woman he loved. He had thought the words without quite realising. Did he love Cassandra? He might. He could. He undoubtedly _shouldn’t_ , and he almost certainly didn’t have any choice in the matter.

He had loved Bianca for most of his life since he had first met her, so long it had become a habit, like an old wound that still ached when it rained. If she turned up tomorrow and asked him to go with her...he would probably do so without question. Even after everything. But the prospect only brought Varric a feeling of resignation, not joy. He would always care for Bianca, it was part of who he was. And, intentional or not, Bianca would always screw him over, because that was who _she_ was. He had loved what they had together, once. But the woman herself was almost a stranger to him now, kept safely at arm’s length at the other end of a sporadic correspondence.

What he felt for Cassandra was different. Unexpected, sharp and fresh and overwhelming in its intensity. Something Varric had thought he was long past feeling. When he thought of her...and he seemed to think of little else these days...all he wanted was to be at her side for as long as she would allow it, to talk with her about his books on long sunny afternoons, to back her up when she charged into battle, to see her slip so easily into command but stumble over the simplest conversation. He wanted her to be able to laugh more often, her life to be easier, the pressure she felt to be lighter, and he wanted to be the one to make that happen.

He also wanted to kiss every inch of her skin and fall asleep with her lying in his arms, but that was really a side issue.

The simple fact was that he no longer wanted to go back to his old life, the one without her in it. Knowing or not, Cassandra had changed everything, changed _him_. She was an extraordinary woman. Varric had spent his life around extraordinary women, and still she had surprised him, time and again. His Seeker.

Varric put his head in his hands and groaned. Maker’s breath, she wasn’t his, and never would be. He didn’t need a sodding demon to tell him that.

He couldn’t go back to his old life, but maybe he could start a new one. He would go to Weisshaupt as Hawke suggested. Leave before he made a complete fool of himself, leave before he said something or did something that he’d regret.

“Varric.”

The voice from in front of him was instantly recognisable, though unexpected. On the list of people Varric _really_ didn’t want to see right now, the Inquisitor was definitely a close second. He looked up, not even able to force his face into a smile as he regarded Trevelyan, who was standing there with a worried frown on his usually jovial face.

“Yeah?” Varric said, making an effort to sound as civil as possible. “Did you need something? I’m kind of busy.”

“So I see.”

Well, Varric _had_ been sitting in the garden alone with his head in his hands, so perhaps he couldn’t begrudge the Inquisitor his sarcasm. But he was in no mood for this right now.

“Look Inquisitor,” he sighed. “Unless there’s something you wanted, I’d rather—”

Trevelyan held up a hand to stop him. “Varric, do you trust me?” he said. It was an unexpected question, and the response came automatically.

“Of course.”

“Then I need you to come with me. Don’t ask any questions, just...well, just trust me.”

Varric stood up, confused and with growing concern. The Inquisitor looked so serious...had he been so wrapped up in his own problems that he had missed something important? Guilt twisted in his stomach.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, trying to gather his thoughts as he followed the Inquisitor out of the garden.

“Yes, and it’s gone on for long enough.” Trevelyan glanced down at Varric as they walked down the steps out of the main hall, and to his relief, smiled. “Don’t be so worried,” he said. “This is easily fixed, I hope.”

“But you won’t tell me what it is?”

Trevelyan shook his head. “Let’s just say...I owe you a favour, and I’m cashing it in on your behalf. Come on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always feel sorry for Josephine, as I repeatedly dash through her office without knocking on the way to the war room.
> 
> I don’t suppose anyone would notice this anyway, but I am aware that the conversation in which Cassandra mentions Varric’s faith canonically happens *after* Halamshiral. Just a bit of timeline fudging on my part because I wanted this story to take place between Adamant and Halamshiral, but I also wanted to include a mention of that lovely exchange.
> 
> Look, if the game didn’t want me to ship Varric and Cassandra, they shouldn’t have made the two of them apparently incapable of shutting up about each other.
> 
> Don’t forget to comment if you’re enjoying this fic, and come back tomorrow for Chapter 8 – ‘Light in the Darkness’ :)


	8. Light in the Darkness

The sun was setting as the Inquisitor led the way out of Skyhold, having picked up Dorian along the way with little more than a smile and a nod between the two. Whatever this was about, Dorian clearly already knew.

Without speaking, the three of them headed down the path and into the small copse of trees that stood in the lee of the mountain, the sun’s warmth fading into the cool of evening and casting long shadows before them. Even in the increasingly dim light it was a familiar trip; there was a clearing here in the midst of the trees, Varric knew, that was a decent spot to go to if you wanted to get away from the bustle of the castle for a while. He had been here on occasion himself to write. It was sheltered from the wind, far enough away from the walls of Skyhold that you could fool yourself you were alone, and there was even a huge old fallen tree that had a trunk thick enough to make a serviceable bench to sit on, bark smoothed by decades of people doing just that.

It was heavily shadowed when they arrived, the low orange light of sunset filtering weakly through the trees. It was also empty, which was surprising. It may not have been a particularly well known spot, but on a beautiful summer’s day like this had been, Varric would have expected _someone_ to be around. Privacy like this was often hard to come by in the castle.

The Inquisitor seemed unsurprised, however, and regarded the clearing with a look of satisfaction. “Good, they’re not here yet,” he muttered, and then turned back to his companions. “Dorian, would you do the honours?”

“This is a terrible waste of my talents, you know,” said Dorian.

“Look, you were the one who wanted to be here for this,” said the Inquisitor, somewhat peevishly, “So you can make yourself useful. Unless you’d rather I did it and set the whole forest on fire?”

“Fine, fine.” Dorian snapped his fingers and suddenly a hundred tiny flames sprang into being in the shadows. Candles. They were scattered around the edge of the trees, in the grass, wedged into rock, dozens upon dozens of them casting soft flickering light over the clearing. There was something else too – the increasingly chilly mountain air turned warmer, to something that felt more like an evening on the Antivan coast. The same magic that let Skyhold’s garden grow flowers even above the snowline, perhaps?

The effect was certainly pleasant, but...

“Uh...” said Varric. “No offense Sparkler, but this isn’t leading up to some kind of blood magic ritual, is it?”

Dorian smirked. “Oh no, something _far_ more dangerous than that,” he said.

The Inquisitor was shifting impatiently from foot to foot. “Josephine should get here any minute,” he said.

“We’re waiting for Ruffles?” said Varric, still trying to make sense of this.

“Sort of,” said the Inquisitor. Dorian made a sound rather like a stifled chuckle.

Varric was starting to get slightly annoyed. He had been genuinely worried when the Inquisitor had approached him, and despite his assurances that this was ‘nothing serious’, at such short notice he’d assumed it had to be something important at least. Now he was just beginning to feel like someone who wasn’t in on the joke. He hadn’t been having a particularly good day to begin with, and frankly all he wanted to do now was go back to his room and sl...well, _try_ to sleep anyway. His ceiling wasn't going to stare at itself all night, after all.

“Is this going to take long?” he asked, trying to keep the bite of impatience out of his voice.

“That depends,” said the Inquisitor vaguely.

Varric’s irritation increased. What the hell were they doing here? Come to that, what was the Inquisitor doing here, especially? The man seemed remarkably unconcerned for someone who had earlier in the day had an intimate conversation with someone about their long-hidden romantic feelings for each other. What was Trevelyan playing at?

“Inquisitor, I know it’s none of my business,” he said, before he could stop himself. “But shouldn’t you be with Ca... the Seeker right now?”

The Inquisitor frowned at him. “Why would _I_ be with Cassandra?”

Varric shrugged uncomfortably. But then, Trevelyan would have to find out sooner or later that he knew. “You know, because you two are...” He trailed off.

The Inquisitor blinked at him for a moment, and then burst out into hearty laughter. “So that’s what this was all...you thought...” He slapped his hand against his forehead dramatically. “I should have known! Maker’s breath!”

Varric stared at him, annoyance given way to bewilderment. “So you’re _not_ a thing?” he said, incredulously. Surely after the conversation he had overheard earlier they must have worked _something_ out? He hadn’t heard Trevelyan’s reaction to Cassandra’s admission, but he had assumed it would be positive; the man hadn’t sounded embarrassed or upset from what little he’d heard. True, he had never been entirely sure about the Inquisitor’s feelings for Cassandra...but even if he had rejected her surely he wouldn’t be _laughing_ about it?

Dorian was staring at Varric in fascination. “Amazing,” he said. “He really believes it.”

The Inquisitor was still chuckling and shaking his head. “Varric, I’m very fond of Cassandra, but we are _not_ together. Maker, she’d eat me alive! Besides,” – and here he smiled widely – “I think Josie might have something to say about that.”

By now Varric was utterly confused. “Wait, you...and _Josephine?_ ” he said slowly. The Inquisitor nodded happily. “But I thought...you two are really a couple?”

Dorian clutched his chest dramatically. “Oh, it’s physically painful,” he groaned. “I thought writers were supposed to be keen observers of people?”

“Shut up Dorian,” said Trevelyan good naturedly. “It’s not as if we advertised it. Besides, love makes fools of us all, you know. Oh, speaking of which...”

He gestured rather dramatically towards the other side of the clearing, as a pair of figures wandered into view through the trees. Josephine stepped into the clearing followed by Cassandra, who looked as confused as Varric felt. When she caught sight of the group already there, her eyes widened in horror and she turned sharply back to the Ambassador.

“No!” she said. “Absolutely not! I can’t...”

Josephine put a hand firmly on her arm and, with a strength Varric didn’t know she had been capable of, steered Cassandra into the clearing and all but pushed her down onto the fallen tree.

“You sit here,” she said, in a tone that brooked no argument. Then she spun around and pointed a finger at Varric. He stepped back instinctively. “You,” said Josephine, “stay there.”

She strode across the clearing past their little group, and paused at the edge, turning with her hands on her hips. “For Andraste’s sake, and for the sake of all of us, _talk_ to each other.” And then she disappeared into the trees.

Cassandra, sitting on the fallen tree and staring fixedly at her hands in her lap, looked rather like a disobedient child who knew exactly what she had done to deserve her punishment. Varric glanced to his side. The Inquisitor appeared to be trying not to laugh again.

“Come on Dorian,” Trevelyan said. “We should be getting back too.”

“Oh, must we?” grinned Dorian. “I do so want to see what—”

“Your entertainment is not the purpose of this exercise,” said the Inquisitor firmly. He clapped a hand on Varric’s shoulder. “If you fuck this up Varric, I’ll never forgive you,” he said, not unkindly.

Before he could protest, or even begin to work out what was going on, The Inquisitor and Dorian had gone. Leaving Varric standing in the clearing, alone but for Cassandra, who was sitting a few yards away and looking everywhere but him.

He felt completely wrong-footed, his mind whirling as he tried to make sense of what he had just heard. Josephine and Trevelyan...well, it explained a lot in some ways, but if those two were together then Josephine couldn’t _possibly_ have been trying to encourage Cassandra’s feelings for the Inquisitor. Could she? But what about her so called ‘little project’? He had _heard_ her talking with Leliana about it...

“I...apologise for this,” said Cassandra, breaking the silence. She was still staring at her hands as if they were the most fascinating things in the world. Varric had a certain amount of sympathy with that view, but he suspected she just didn’t want to meet his eye. She sounded deeply embarrassed.

“You know, if you’re going to apologise to me for the first time ever Seeker,” he said, “You may as well make it for something you were actually responsible for. I’m getting the impression Josephine didn’t tell you any more about this than the Inquisitor told me?”

“No, she did not.”

“Well then, we’re both innocent victims. Of...something.” He waved his hands vaguely around at the clearing. “Any idea what this is supposed to be about?”

“We’re supposed to talk,” said Cassandra, in a rather small voice.

“Isn’t that what we’re doing?”

There was a long silence. The wind rustled through the tree tops. And Varric had the distinct sensation of something very important slipping away from him. Ah, to the void with it. He would be leaving soon anyway, and whatever was going on with Cassandra, Josephine and Trevelyan, he had to _know._

“Seeker,” he said. “Is there something between you and the Inquisitor?”

It was, he had to admit, rather a blunt way of asking, especially if her feelings had been rejected, but he was now completely mystified by this new turn of events and so sick and tired of endless speculation.

Cassandra’s head jerked up and she stared at him, aghast. “What? No!”

He was a little surprised at such a vehement response. “No?”

“No! Sweet Andraste Varric, is that what you think? Me and...” She trailed off and buried her head in her hands. “Maker preserve me, I’m such a fool,” she muttered, her voice muffled. “I knew I was simply imagining it. All this time you thought...”

She took a deep breath, lowered her hands to her lap again and looked him directly in the eye, her face unreadable. Sitting somewhat awkwardly on the fallen tree, she was actually at almost the same level he was for once. It was strange, to not have her looking down at him.

“Varric,” she said flatly. “I have absolutely no romantic interest in the Inquisitor whatsoever.”

“You don’t?”

“No.”

Well that was fairly unequivocal. But it didn’t make _sense._ “Then who was—”

Varric stopped. Cassandra was looking levelly at him with the kind of expression reserved for the terminally stupid.

“Oh,” he said.

There was a long pause as he took a mental step back and ran his mind through his memories of recent events from a rather different perspective.

“ _Oh_ ,” he repeated, with rather more feeling this time. “You... _me?_ ”

“Yes.”

Varric stared. Even in the flickering candlelight he could see colour was blooming high on Cassandra’s cheeks. “I...care for you Varric,” she said, as if every word were being forced from her lips. “It is not easy to admit, but there it is.” Her hands were twisting restlessly in her lap. “I understand that it may be difficult for you to accept. We have not exactly always been...” She hesitated. “But these last few months I had thought...it seemed...well, I had hoped that perhaps you might have come to...”

She trailed off, regarding him anxiously. “Varric?” she said, somewhat desperately. “Sweet Andraste, _please_ say something.”

For once, Varric could think of absolutely nothing to say. Several important parts of his brain appeared to have completely shut down. So instead he crossed the space between them in a few swift strides, and kissed her.

Her lips parted readily under his, and her hands tangled in his hair as she drew him closer. _Oh._

_...she’s clearly fallen head-over-heels for him... you’re not half as cynical as you pretend to be... was that a compliment Varric?...it was kind of obvious how you felt...why him of all people..._

As they pulled apart, she made a soft sound of pleasure that almost undid him completely.

“ _Maker_ ,” he breathed, the taste of her on his tongue, the frantic pounding of her pulse under his hands. “Oh Maker, Cassandra...”

Her breath hitched at the sound of her name, and he kissed her again, unable to resist. He was utterly lost to her, the indescribably wonderful feeling of holding her in his arms, her soft supple curves pressed against him, the possessive grip of her hands in his hair. He brushed his lips against the sharp line of her jaw, the smooth warm skin of her neck, everywhere he had longed to kiss her but never imagined he ever would.

At some point – Varric couldn’t recall when – Cassandra slipped from the log and they both tumbled onto the grass. It didn’t seem to matter, really.

 

* * *

 

“Varric?”

“Mmm?”

“You’re being suspiciously quiet. What are you thinking?”

They were lying together on the grass, Varric on his back and Cassandra curled around him on her side, head resting on his shoulder. Night had fallen and the stars were out, glittering like tiny candles of their own across the vast dome of the sky. Varric didn’t know how long they had been out here, and didn’t much care. Cassandra’s skin was warm against his, her arm thrown possessively across him.

“Well right now,” he said, idly tracing the curve of her spine with his fingers, “I was thinking...that I really hope Dorian and the Inquisitor actually did go back to Skyhold and didn’t hang around to see what happened. Or we may have scarred them for life.”

Cassandra laughed, and he felt the sound as much as heard it, her body close as it was, warm and vital against his. “I imagine we’re safe,” she said, dryly. “They were clearly far more confident about the two of us than we were.”

“I think _everyone_ was more confident about the two of us than we were.”

“We do seem to have taken rather a long time to get to this point. I still can’t believe you thought I had feelings for the Inquisitor, of all people.”

“Is that so surprising?” asked Varric. “He is the dashing, handsome, sweep-you-off-your-feet romantic type, after all. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?”

Cassandra lifted her head slightly to press a swift, light kiss against the bare skin of his shoulder. “You’ve never been very good at knowing what it was I wanted, Varric,” she said. There was a brief pause. “And neither have I, sometimes.”

“Thank the Maker we have pushy friends with nothing better to do to work it out for us then,” said Varric. “You know they’re going to be _insufferable_ after this, right?”

“I know,” said Cassandra resignedly, as she rested her head back against him. “They have earned it, I think.” She sighed. “Dorian and the Inquisitor I can understand, but I can’t imagine how they convinced Josephine to be a part of this.”

“Oh I don’t think they could have kept her away,” chuckled Varric. “She’s a bit of a romantic at heart too, our Ambassador. Plus, she and Trevelyan have been courting each other for a while now...they probably cooked this up together.”

Cassandra made a soft sound of surprise. “Josephine and the Inquisitor? I...well, I suppose it’s a good match, but I confess I had no idea.”

“Yeah, I think they were trying to keep it private, y’know, for the time being. I think Dorian and Leliana are the only other people who know.”

“Then how on earth do _you_ know?”

Varric grinned to himself and kissed the top of her head. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed this Seeker,” he said, “but I’m very perceptive.”

 

* * *

 

_The End_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, I am basically Dorian, but really really want to be Varric.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed reading this! It’s been a fun week all round, and if I get the time I’ll try to do this again some time with another fic. I really appreciate everyone who left kudos, and especially those who took the time to comment. I love you guys nearly as much as I love these two idiots <3


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